


Admittance

by AuntieEm73



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Arrogant Thranduil, Caring Thranduil, Dom/sub, Dominant Thranduil, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I promise all will be well in the end, Loss of Virginity, Miscarriage, Regret, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, Thranduil is an asshole, Thranduil starting to see sense, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29089512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntieEm73/pseuds/AuntieEm73
Summary: After accidentally killing her new, murderous and abusive husband, Emíel is forced to flee her home. She knows not where to go and ends up in Mirkwood, in servitude of ruthless King Thranduil. The king sees something in her and knows only one way of taking what he wants. Whatever will Emíel do? Will she accept her submissive role at the hands of the king, or can she admit that there is more?
Relationships: Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: the story contains clear dom/sub elements with dubious consent, bordering on mild BDSM. But I promise there is a story there. The above-mentioned serves a purpose to the storyline.
> 
> And while dom/sub elements may not be everyone's cup of tea, my dear friend CelticShieldMaiden did say recently: "Doms always take care of their Subs" and that is definitely true for this work.
> 
> Not certain I will write more like this, but it was fun having a go at it.

Chapter 1

A loud wailing could be heard from the marital chambers. Servants knew better than to consider the goings-on within. It was none of their business how newlyweds consummated their marriage.

“What have you done?” the young elleth cried, as she backed away from her fresh husband.

“Why… I have taken what I am entitled to have, of course,” he laughed, as he held a bottle of wine, of which the elleth noticed it had already been almost emptied.

“You disgust me, Boron,” the elleth spat at him.

“Funny you should say that, Emíel… you parents said something along the same lines, before I took their lives,” the mean drunk smirked. Emíel buckled forward, agony on her face… with her beloved parents gone, she was genuinely and truly alone. 

“And once you are out of the way as well… I will take my newfound title and enjoy whatever life has to offer me,” Boron huffed angrily, as he approached Emíel.

“But first… I will take what I’m owed,” he snarled as he started to undo the front of his trousers. Emíel swallowed hard, not yet ready to give into her husband’s desires. She noticed the large silver ring with intricate knots on his ring finger, one that had belonged to her mother, of which she knew she would have never relinquished it without consent. The ring was dear to her, as it had been a loving gift from her father. The ring would have at one point passed down to her, but it seemed Boron had claimed what wasn’t his to claim. She sobbed over the loss of her parents and the ring her husband had unrightfully taken from her. Anger boiled up from her insides. She looked around and noticed a small knife on the bedside table. She picked it up and held it up in front of her, in a frail attempt to keep her husband at a distance. Boron laughed almost maniacally, no doubt brought on so by the vast amount of wine he had already consumed. His trousers had dropped to his ankles, disabling him to move as freely as he would have liked. He shuffled towards Emíel and with one swift motion, he had already taken the knife from her hand.

“Now what were you going to do with that knife, huh… _wife of mine?_ ” Boron again snarled.

“Were you going to swing it at me… in order to cut me… like this?” he hissed, as he swung the knife towards the hands she held in front of her, effectively cutting the inside of her left wrist. The cut looked superficial at first, but Emíel found how she was barely able to move her fingers. She realised that Boron had in fact cut some of the tendons in her wrist, effectively disabling her finger movements. Emíel shrieked as she clutched her wrist with her right hand, as blood seeped from it.

Boron considered his wife incapacitated and shuffled towards her, his pants still around his ankles. Emíel realised she was out of options, in keeping him from her and in a fit of energy, she lunged at him, pushing her shoulder into his chest hard. Boron was unable to steady himself quickly enough and lost his balance, making him tumble backwards towards the floor, but not before hitting his head on the corner of the bedframe.

Emíel was heaving and readied herself for her husband to get up and turn on her and violently take what he claimed was his. Boron however, did not move. She regarded her husband for a good while, until she realised he was not going to move… ever again. A small trickle of blood flowed from the back of his head. Boron’s gaze was directed at the ceiling, but the stare was vacant. There was no longer any life in him. 

Emíel brought her right hand to her mouth in shock. She had killed him. She looked around the room frantically, at a loss of what to do next. She concluded she could do only one thing. She had to run. She had to disappear… shed her heritage… pretend to be someone who she was not and lay low.

*** 

Several years had passed and Emíel had been brought down to near nothing… a mere servant in the Elvenking Halls, in the heart of Mirkwood. Her wrist and mobility of her fingers had never quite healed. She had always been able to conceal her poor functioning hand, and none seemed to have ever noticed. She did not stand out, as she always kept her head low, her face down. Whenever someone got close to her, she would simply push them away. She had no real friends, although the other servants and palace staff had taken a liking to her. She was a pretty elleth to behold, but she always ensured her outward appearance was somewhat obscured, enough to ensure no one would pay attention to her. It was key to her survival. She had vowed never to change her name. The name she had been affectionately given by her parents, the one thing she still held on to, in memory of her doting father and loving mother.

Where she was at one point an esteemed member of a noble elvish family, she had become no more than a low servant within the walls of the Elvenking Halls, at the mercy of none other than King Thranduil himself. She was glad that she had a roof over her head and a purpose to keep her going, but deep down she was sad. She still had no one.

“Another feast so soon after the last one… we have barely recovered,” the head of the kitchens huffed, as he busied himself with passing orders to the cooks and other kitchen staff. “I cannot see the point of any of them… they serve no purpose whatsoever,” the ellon sighed, knowing quite well that he was not fit to pass judgement, but simply to execute orders.

His attention was caught by the clattering of fine china, following by something breaking into a dozen pieces. He glanced at the floor by the wash basin and gave the elleth responsible a scowling look.

“Emíel… you clumsy fool… what have you done now?” the ellon shouted at her. Emíel was startled, as she rubbed the inside of her wrist and fingers, cursing them for not cooperating.

“I… I’m sorry, Garovan… the plate… slipped,” Emíel apologised quickly, her eyes wide with shock.

“I can see that, you silly girl… pick up the pieces and clean up… you have more work to do after this. We are short-staffed tonight and you will be serving in the Great Hall as well,” Garovan explained, after which he turned to shout further orders to others.

Emíel gasped. She did not want to serve anyone. She was not able to properly hold a large tray of anything… her left hand simply did not have the strength to do so, but she knew she couldn’t defy Garovan’s orders. He would surely let her go if she didn’t comply and then where would she go if that were to happen?

She lowered herself and before long she was on all fours cleaning up the mess she had created. Her backside hovered in view of others. Some of the ellons present were ogling her rear and exchanged hushed whispers.

“I wouldn’t mind having a piece of that someday,” one piped, while another just laughed in acknowledgement. A third ellon felt bold all of a sudden and tiptoed towards Emíel, only to slap his hand across her backside’s cheeks hard. Emíel shot up and looked at whoever had struck her. She rested her hand on her rear, flinching at the sensitive skin beneath her clothing. She was not angry, as she felt she shouldn’t allow herself to be, but she did stare at the blunt ellon to let him know she was not amused. All three ellons just sniggered and returned to their duties at hand. 

*** 

Emíel prepared herself to the best of her abilities, ensuring her serving skills would not falter during yet another feast, ordered by the great king of Mirkwood himself. She had massaged her wrist and fingers, loosening them as best she could, hoping it would be enough for her to carry out her duties without problems. She was nervous as she was uncertain whether she could.

As the evening progressed, she deliberately kept picking up smaller and lighter trays from the kitchens, only to carry them to the Great Hall shortly after. She was able to handle the smaller trays relatively easily, but she felt that any more weight to them, would surely be more problematic. 

As she entered the kitchens again for another round of serving, only one tray rested on the large kitchen table. There were no other servants around, all of them busy in the Great Hall already. She swallowed hard, sweat started to collect on her brow, as she nervously looked around to see if there was anyone who might help her. There was no one there but her and Garovan. 

“That one is for the king’s table, girl… you had better be quick about it… you know how the king does not like to be kept waiting,” he explained, urging her to get to her task.

She knew quite well that King Thranduil did not like to be kept waiting, though he had lived for so long, yet his patience was not always commendable. He often seemed impatient about something or other and if not impatient, then disgruntled, cold or even foul. She had no love for the king at all. He was not a kind ellon, but often a crude man. She supposed it came with his long-lasting position as king. She could not deny that he was a most attractive elf, with long legs, square shoulders, beautiful silver blond hair and a gorgeous face, but his awful demeanour did nothing for her. She had always been pleased about the fact that their paths had never crossed. She had no desire to be in any way connected to him. She was already one of the lowest ranking of the palace inhabitants, in mere servitude of the king… the distance between them was at least intellectually large enough for him to never pay attention to her. She was quite happy about this, as she knew many servants had fallen victim to the king’s physical desires, both males as well as females. Rumours often buzzed around the palace halls of how the king was never merely looking to fulfil his needs, but would extract them by force, roughly, ensuring all would bow to his will, whether they wanted to or not. Such was the entitlement of a king. She considered herself fortunate enough to hold a very low position, even among servants. 

Emíel had always kept her head down and her poor position had always aided her in remaining inconspicuous, but it seemed she was going to get much closer to the king than she really wanted to tonight. She genuinely hoped her poor serving skills would go unnoticed by anyone present, but most of all by her king.

*** 

She entered the Great Hall once again. The tray she was holding was too large for her and her left hand was not cooperative at all. With all her might she tried for her right hand to compensate for the impairment on her left. She wasn’t entirely certain how long she could manage it. She quickly made her way to the king’s table. He was talking to one of his guests, an ever present frown between his thick eyebrows. He paid no attention to her whatsoever, for which she was eternally grateful. 

As Emíel approached, she became more confident without the king’s gaze on her. She knew that at one point, she would have to let the tray rest on her slightly disabled hand, while using her dominant hand to take plates and bowls to be put on the table by the king.

She was struggling, trying to find the tray’s balance. Her actions were clumsy and the rattling of the china drew the king’s attention, as his eyes briefly met with hers. Her concentration had suddenly vanished and as she lifted one more bowl from the tray, she noticed it tip over. Her left hand was not apt enough to regain balance and accompanied by a loud clattering noise, what had remained on the serving tray, found its way onto the king’s lap and onto the floor. Emíel gasped. This was her undoing. The food she had been carrying had soiled the king’s tunic and china lay smashed around his feet in what seemed no less than a hundred pieces.

Thranduil stood and fury swept across his face, his nostrils flaring violently, his posture intimidating.

“You idiot… look at what you have done,” he bellowed loudly, for all to hear. Most of the guests present turned their heads to observe the incident. Emíel cowered away from the king, as he stood staring at her angrily.

“How is it that such an inapt tart has come to be in my service?” he bellowed again, not really looking for an answer.

“Get this dumb cow out of my sight and send for whoever is responsible for hiring such a mistake to reside in my palace,” he hissed at one of the other servants.

Emíel had in the meantime lowered herself, picking up pieces of china and food from the floor, placing them onto the tray, that had made their way to the ground just moments before.

“Stop that… before you do any more damage, you…” he growled, as she looked at Emíel, who stood, shock and sadness on her face, as her eyes again met his silver blue ones.

“I… I’m sorry, my Lord… it was an accident,” she offered.

“ _You_ are an accident… be gone… _now_ ,” he commanded venomously. Emíel hurriedly removed herself from his presence, but Thranduil could not keep himself from ogling her as her backside swayed. He smirked. Something was on his mind. The elleth offered potential.

*** 

As Emíel hurried towards the kitchens, Garovan waited, having already heard of the incident that had transpired in the Great Hall. His gaze was stern and disapproving.

“It seems I have made a mistake in trusting you were up for the task,” he huffed.

“Now I must reassign you to a task where you are unable to make such a fool of yourself,” he said before dismissing her to retreat to her sleeping quarters. Emíel felt embarrassed, wondering if she had finally jeopardised the comfort of the palace roof over her head. This could well be the end of her stay in Mirkwood. Where she would go… she did not know.

Events that had occurred earlier that evening, swam through her head, as she finally laid her head to rest on the pillow that was on her bed. It took a while before sleep managed to capture her, the king’s cold demeanour weighing heavily on her mind. She was unfit to even be a lowly servant. She cried with disappointment… disappointment in herself, before fatigue pulled her into a restless slumber.

***


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“You… yes, _you_ … foolhardy girl,” a voice called out to her. Emíel turned to see who was addressing her, instantly recognising the head of housekeeping. 

“Come here, girl,” the older elleth commanded. Emíel obeyed, wondering if her fate was finally upon her.

“You have been reassigned in your duties. I had a word with Garovan and he insisted I allow you a task that could do less… detriment,” the elleth smirked.

“Yes,” was Emíel’s sole reply, earning her a scolding look from the lady who was in charge of all housekeeping logistics within the palace walls.

“You will be responsible for the king’s chambers…” the older elleth explained, which made Emíel gasp.

“Surely…” she wanted to protest, but decided to hold her tongue.

“Don’t flatter yourself, young one, you will merely be assigned to cleaning the king’s chambers, making sure it is spotless and change the king’s bedding daily,” she further explained.

“At least you won’t be able to break anything,” the elleth huffed, before finding embarrassment in Emíel’s eyes.

“Make sure you are there between midday and mid-afternoon daily… the king won’t be present during this time, so you will have no other opportunity to humiliate yourself,” she added, making Emíel lower her head even further than what she had already done.

“Yes,” she merely said. The older elleth turned at her heel and moved herself away from her, much to Emíel’s relief. Cleaning and the changing of sheets… she could handle that.

*** 

Emíel was able to execute her new tasks without much trouble. She was relieved not having to face King Thranduil again. His foul moods she found frightening, though attracted to him she most certainly was. Her body responded involuntarily, as the image of the king’s face darted through her mind, while his scent lingered in his private domain. She inhaled deeply, before shaking her head and proceeded with the task at hand. 

She had replaced the crumpled sheets with fresh crisp ones. After she had tucked the ends of the covers beneath the mattress, she proceeded with wiping all surfaces in sight and continued to sweep the floors. The king’s chambers were quite vast and it took her longer than she had anticipated. As she moved towards the bathing area, she heard the faint sloshing of water. Curiosity got the better of her and she wandered in cautiously, to assess what was causing the water to move of its own accord. 

She gasped loudly upon finding the king bathing, his arms resting comfortably on the side of the small pool, as he sat on one of the ridges beneath the water’s surface, while his hair had collected at the pool’s edge, just between his shoulder blades. Emíel’s sudden and voiced gasp had instantly made him turn around, a frown immediately upon his face.

“What in the blazes is the meaning of this?” he bellowed, not hiding his disapproval of finding a lowly servant such as Emíel in his private chambers, in his bathing area no less. The crease between his eyebrows deepened, as he recognised the elleth from several days before, the one who had infuriated him to no end, after she had wasted good food to find its way onto his garments and floor.

“I… I apologise, my Lord… I… I will take my leave,” she answered curtly, before turning, to swiftly increase the distance between her and her king. She could hear the increased sounds of sloshing water behind her, much aware that the king was exiting his bath. She had no desire of being confronted with the king in such an indisposed state.

“Stop!” a deep silken voice ordered.

Emíel stopped dead in her tracks, knowing better than to disobey her king’s will. She refrained however from facing him. She could hear the king approach her from behind. She trembled, knowing that she had once again failed in executing simple tasks. She closed her eyes. She wanted to cry, but concluded that that would not merit anything.

“Open your eyes,” the king commanded her, his mouth was close to her ear. Emíel carefully allowed her eyelids to open, but she dared not stare at anything but the space before her.

The king circled her, like a predator would his prey. From the corner of her eyes, Emíel had noticed that the king had encompassed his hips with a towel, shielding his privates from her view. A sense of relief washed over her, as she remained still.

“So… you came to stare at your king… is that it?” he kindly asked the question, smirking as he kept circling her.

“I… no, my Lord,” she almost whispered, making him chuckle.

“Careful now,” he warned.

Silence resided between them, as the king finally stepped in front of her view, his hands resting on his sides. Emíel couldn’t help but glance at the fine physique her king sported, instantly triggering a tingle between her thighs. Quite involuntarily, her eyes had briefly travelled lower, where the undeniable arousal in the shape of a large bulge was evident beneath the towel. Emíel gasped again.

“I am right _here_ , servant girl,” he smirked again, urging her to look into his eyes, knowing quite well that the elleth was already completely at his mercy, to do with her whatever he pleased. The remark had instantly drawn her eyes up to face him again. He was so tall, that her neck hurt from jerking her head up so suddenly, but she didn’t let her king notice.

“What is your name, servant girl?” the king asked, a certain dominance oozing from his lips.

“E-Emíel… my Lord,” she hastened to add.

“I see… and what are you doing here, girl?” he asked, without addressing her by her given name, even though he asked her to tell him.

“I was… cleaning, my Lord,” she explained, keeping her eyes in front of her.

“Yes… it seems that is what you are good at… regardless of whether you are responsible for the mess that was made… or not,” the king grinned.

“And I changed your sheets, my Lord,” she added, though Thranduil had not asked.

“Indeed… they were in need of changing,” he laughed teasingly, making Emíel wonder what he meant by it.

Both said nothing for a little while, as Thranduil merely observed her. She was finely built, long dark hair was loosely braided on her head, allowing for the long braid to cascade down her back. Her hips were not wide, but curvy enough for the king to notice. Her tunic did not allow him to assess much of her breasts, but he was able to see they were not small. Her face was perfect. High cheek bones, a straight nose and plump lips. Overall he was quite taken by her appearance, as he regarded her sparkling grey eyes, which were partly covered by long dark eyelashes. He nodded approvingly.

Finally Thranduil broke the silence, as he was ready to coerce out of her what had already decided he desired.

“The towels also need changing,” he said, a certain mischief in the tone of his voice.

Emíel turned to retrieve the towels in the bathing area, but Thranduil grabbed her arm roughly.

“No… _those_ towels are clean,” he stated as he nodded toward the towels by the small pool.

“ _This one_ , however, needs to be washed,” he smirked, as he hooked his fingers beneath the edge of the towel around his hips, before pulling it away from his naked form, instantly revealing his strong erection on a bed of soft pubic hair.

Emíel swallowed hard. She was unfamiliar with male genitals, though she had heard stories. She tried to remain stoic, but was failing miserably. Her eyes betrayed her fear and apprehension, but there was something else. Thranduil was no fool and suspected he already knew of her deepest thoughts.

“What do you think… servant girl,” he spoke with a demeaning tone. Emíel wasn’t sure how to answer that question and so she responded sheepishly, revealing her naivety.

“Of… w-what… my Lord?” she responded truthfully.

“Why… of my cock… of course,” Thranduil laughed, effectively shocking Emíel with his choice of words.  
“I… I do not know, my Lord,” she spoke in honesty.

“You do not know?” Thranduil wondered, laughing even louder than before.

“Please do not tell me that someone as fine looking as you, has never beheld…or _held_ … the male sexual organ before?” he wondered in earnest. Emíel did not know how to respond to the king’s directness. She was still untouched, though she had turned many an ellon’s head as she had developed into womanhood.

“I see… perhaps it is time someone taught you of the birds and the bees,” he smirked again.

“Do tell, how old are you?” he asked in a commanding tone.

“I am sixty years of age, my Lord,” she answered obediently, making the king sigh audibly.

“So young… “ he wanted to say more, but decided not to.

“And you have never been… intimate with anyone?” he asked as his face drew closer to hers.

“No ellon has ever… allowed you to play with his manhood before?” he almost whispered, making Emíel’s breathing sound ragged and uncontrolled.

“You breathing betrays you… young one… it is not very becoming… though it is not something we cannot remedy,” he spoke, as the corners of his lips turned upwards.

“Would you like to touch it,” he suddenly asked. Emíel’s eyes grew wide.

“No,” she responded all too quickly, evident shock in her response.

“No? Oh, but I think you do… but even if not… I command you to regardless,” Thranduil spoke and waited. Emíel stared at him, while he did nothing. It was then that she realised that the king had given her an order. Clearly Emíel’s slow reaction displeased him and he roughly grabbed her left hand to bring it to his hardened flesh.

“Touch it!” he instructed her. Emíel curled her fingers around the shaft of the erection, but remained still.

“Oh my… you _are_ inexperienced, aren’t you… let me guide you, you innocent girl,” he sighed.

“Tighten your grip and move the skin up and down,” he spoke with a low voice, as Emíel followed his instructions. The king closed his eyes and pushed his head back. A moan escaped his lips, while Emíel kept moving her hand up and down the length of his flesh.

“Grip it tighter,” he commanded again. Emíel tried, but she couldn’t, as her fingers simply wouldn’t comply.

“ _Tighter_ , I said,” the king raised his voice as he eyed her intently. Emíel was on the verge of tears, unable to execute her king’s wishes.

Thranduil gripped her wrist and brought it up to his face.

“What is it you don’t understand, _servant girl_ ,” he hissed, as he examined her hand, only then noticing the scarring on her wrist. He lowered her hand.

“I see… use your other hand,” he instructed and while Emíel lifted her right hand to grip the king’s erection, he halted her.

“Stop! I think you can do better than that,” he sneered, resting his hands onto her shoulders, pushing down onto them.

“Lower yourself to your knees,” he insisted. She complied dutifully, unsure what the king had in mind.

She stared up at him, wondering what she was to do next. She dared not look at his hardness, but she suspected she had to again at one point or another.

“Suck me!” he ordered.

“What?” Emíel suddenly questioned the king’s will.

“Are you deaf as well?” he snarled at her, almost mocking her physical impairment.

“No, my Lord,” she whispered.

“Then do as you are told!”

Emíel slowly opened her mouth, bringing her parted lips to the tip of the king’s erect state. She allowed for the tip to slide just past her lips. Almost instinctively she circled her tong around the reddened crown, before pushing her head forward, slowly taking more of the king into her warm mouth. She concluded she was doing something right, as soft guttural sounds could be heard from above her. She remembered how the king had ordered her to move her hand up and down, eliciting sounds of pleasure from him. She wondered if she would achieve the same by applying the same technique with her mouth. She slowly started to move her head back and forth.

“That’s it, servant girl… tighten your lips for me,” he panted loudly.

Emíel wasn’t entirely certain how long she had been on her knees, pleasuring her king orally, but his hip movements told her that something was amiss. She felt his hands rest on either side of her head, before he gripped it powerfully, aiding in her movements of sucking him. His actions became more aggressive, as she no longer controlled where her mouth was as opposed to his erection. The king had started to buck his hips forward, while bringing her head closer, invading her mouth over and over. On occasion she felt the tip of his shaft go so deep, that it made her gag, as saliva escaped from the corners of her mouth. Gurgling noises were echoing off the walls of the royal chambers, while his hands clamped down on her head, his hips fervently pushing his flesh in and out of her mouth roughly. Tears escaped from the corners of her eyes, every time she felt his shaft hit her uvula. The king did not stop, as his moans had turned into loud grunts.

“I think you are a quick learner… servant girl,” he hissed again.

“I may just reward you with my seed in your mouth,” he sneered, as he felt Emíel attempting to pull her head back.

“Not just yet, my young one,” he spoke, steadying her, as he kept invading her mouth repeatedly.

Emíel noticed the muscles on his abdomen spasm, while his movements became erratic. She knew not what it meant and without warning, she felt a warm, slightly salty liquid erupt deep down her throat. She gagged again, while Thranduil pushed her face closer to his pubic area, ensuring she would take every drop he had to offer.

Suddenly he released her head, withdrawing himself from her lips, while a few strings of his semen, mixed with her saliva landed on his strong thighs. Thranduil pushed her bottom jaw up, effectively closing her mouth.

“Swallow!”

Emíel’s throat felt raw, but she swallowed what the king had given her regardless. She flinched, letting Thranduil know that he had gone too deep.

“There’s a good girl,” he whispered. Emíel moved to lift herself to stand.

“Not so quick… servant girl… I believe you were here to clean… were you not?” he smirked as his eyes landed on the white liquid that had spilled onto his thigh.

Emíel lifted her tunic and prepared to wipe the spilled seed with the inside of the garment.

“No!”

“ _Clean_ it!” he ordered. Emíel immediately understood his twisted will and brought her face to the king’s thigh, as she allowed her tongue to lap up the juice that had not managed to make its way down her throat. It was only then that she fully tasted his eruption. She had already concluded it was slightly salty, but tasting it on the tip of her tongue was something else. She had yet to decide whether she liked the taste or not.

“Good… you may leave now… until I call for you again,” Thranduil spoke, as he walked passed her to move forward with the day.

Emíel quickly collected the king’s laundry and exited his chambers, embarrassment on her cheeks, humiliation on her mind and an awkward damp between her legs. She knew not whether to cry or be pleased. Many emotions ran through her head, but the mixture of them, made it difficult for her to wonder whether what had happened was good or bad.

*** 

Emíel both dreaded, as well as looked forward to the moment her king would call upon her again. Born in nobility, fleeing from her home under questionable circumstances, taking on a position as a lowly servant and being used by King Thranduil himself, had made her humiliation complete. Deep down she was well aware that the king having her way with her, was nothing to be smug about. She would not be the first servant to bow to his filthy will, nor did she believe she was going to be the last. If she could be allowed to remain in the relatively secure position she held at that moment, she would do well to obey his orders, until he would lose interest and move on to his next conquest. The more she considered it, the more she was convinced that what had happened to her the day before, was not likely to repeat itself. 

She was wrong.

The king did not only call on her the following day, but every day after for a week. She found she had grown addicted to the request and quickly learned how to do a good job pleasing him. No doubt the king had noticed the same. She marvelled at his beautiful manhood, and while she was not familiar with the male genitalia as much, she could appreciate the strong flesh she had to take into her mouth over and over. She was mildly disappointed each time he dismissed her so easily, after having reached his fulfilment. Yet she was repulsed by her own arousal, every time she visited the king’s chambers. What was wrong with her? At least she still had her innocence.

***


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Things were as busy as ever within the palace walls. Emíel was in the laundry room, folding sheets and towels. The heated damp in the confined space, had her sweating profusely, but she was at least glad that she wasn’t able to break anything. Folding did not require any particular strength from her and so her slightly impaired left hand managed quite easily. Her mind wandered to King Thranduil. She considered his immaculate outward appearance, his strong torso, his rippling pectorals and abdominal muscles, which twitched just before he would release his semen deep down the warmth of her mouth. She relished the hushed words of degradation, while his long hair brushed against her cheek softly. She quickly snapped back to reality as she heard movement behind her. She jerked around only to find Firravan behind her.

“Oh… it’s you,” she sighed. Firravan laughed. Well of course it is me, who did you think it was?” he grinned. Firravan was one of the servants assigned to stable work. He tended the horses and had made his way into the laundry room to pick up the horses’ covers, that had needed a good wash the day prior. Emíel liked Firravan. He treated her kindly and whenever their paths crossed, their dialogues were pleasant and sincere. She was finally pleased to have found a friend, when she was convinced she wouldn’t ever, not for as long as she lived at the palace. 

“The king is really working you hard, isn’t he?” he smiled at her, as he regarded the sweat on her forehead. Emíel swallowed. She had never told Firravan of her daily visits to the king’s chambers as she was much too embarrassed to do so. She concluded Firravan was referring to nothing more than her work in the laundry room and how she tended to other household needs in the king’s private chambers.

“Oh… it’s not quite so bad… it’s just so terribly warm in here,” she exasperated. Firravan nodded. 

“It would be good if there were a window here… allow for some fresh air to blow through the space,” he confirmed her remark.

Emíel lifted a pile of sheets and laid several towels on top, lifting the pile up. She wobbled on her feet, making the towels fall to the ground.

“Oh no…” she exclaimed loudly, before setting the sheets down again, lowering herself to pick up the towels that had again been soiled.

“Let me help,” Firravan offered. Emíel nodded gratefully. She needed the extra pair of hands, or make two trips from the laundry room to the king’s chambers unnecessarily.

The two walked side by side along the vast corridors, laughing and talking amicably, each holding a clean set of laundry. A draft blew a strand of Emíel’s dark hair across her face. She tried to blow the hair from her skin, but the sweat that had collected on her face earlier, made the lock cling to her skin.

“Here… let me,” Firravan offered, as they stood. He tenderly plucked the hair from the sweaty skin and carefully pushed it behind her ear, to ensure it would not return to her face again. She stared at Firravan for a moment. She detected a certain shyness across his expression, an evident blush on his cheeks. Emíel merely smiled. While she liked Firravan a lot, she was not attracted to him in the way she was attracted to… her train of thought was crudely interrupted.

“ _Servant girl!_ ” a thundering voice demanded her attention, which she instantly recognised as Thranduil’s.

Emíel turned to find Thranduil walking towards her with long strides, his face fuming, nostrils flaring. He circled the fingers of his large hand around her upper arm and dragged her alongside of him, in the direction of his personal chambers, leaving Firravan flabbergasted as to what had just happened, the towels still in his hands.

Once they reached the king’s destination, Thranduil roughly hurled Emíel inside. She stumbled, dropping the sheets, as she was no longer able to keep her balance. The king approached her threateningly, making Emíel slowly back up in a feeble attempt to move away from him. Before she realised, the back of her legs pushed against the large bedframe behind her. She could go no further.

“You have the audacity of flirting with the stable boy?” he demanded to know.

“I… no… I… Firravan is a friend,” she whimpered.

“And does Firravan know that as well? Because it looked like he was behaving in a manner which more befits someone who is courting… and you allowed him,” he accused her.

“Have you not understood that you are not to involve yourself with anyone other than myself?” his voice boomed through the room.

“I… I’m sorry… I did not know… I…” Emíel stammered, not entirely understanding what the king was telling her.

“I think perhaps it is time you understood… it is time that I claim what is mine to ensure others will no longer dare to get close to you,” he huffed, as he started to undo his tunic. Emíel’s eyes grew wide, but she had little time to consider what the king was saying. Clad in only his leggings and undershirt, he roughly gripped the front of her common dress and ripped it away from her. Only her underwear remained.

“Remove that,” he commanded, as he removed his undershirt over his head and started tugging at the lacings of his leggings. Emíel did as she was told, her hands trembling. She shook in fear, quite aware of what was about to transpire. She coveted it, but she was unsure if Thranduil’s state of mind would make the deed less uncomfortable. Somehow she did not seem to care. The way in which he dominated her, made moisture pool between the lips of her core. If anyone was going to be her first, she was glad it was the king.

Thranduil regarded Emíel’s naked form for a moment. She was beautiful, it was for that reason he had to ensure to claim her as his, before anyone else could. She was his and he would let her know, one way or another.

Emíel swallowed hard as she set eyes on his hardened state, which twitched at the prospect of taking her maidenhood. She shrieked as Thranduil circled his large hands around her waist, lifted her up and threw her onto the large bed. Within moments, the king was crawling towards her on all fours, his hair brushing her thighs, her abdomen, her breasts, until his face hovered over hers. He smirked. He was going to enjoy taking her innocence from her. She owed him, for being as clumsy as she was.

Thranduil lowered his head and flicked his tongue across one of her nipples, before taking the nub into his mouth, sucking it fervently. Emíel’s breathing accelerated. Suddenly he took the hard nub between his teeth and bit down, harder than he had perhaps intended, making Emíel cry out loudly, though she did not seem to protest.

“So you like it like that?” the king sneered. Emíel thought it wise not to answer, not knowing what his response would be if she allowed herself to admit, that she enjoyed the mix of pain and pleasure.

As he brought his mouth to her nipple again, his hand slid between her thighs. He parted them forcefully, giving him more space to work with. He trailed his index finger along her labia, where he found her dripping with desire.

“Well now… it seems your body has betrayed you once again, servant girl,” he snarled, while taking her throbbing bud between his thumb and index finger, squeezing it firmly. In response Emíel writhed beneath him. She tried to keep her face stoic, but was finding it difficult to do so. She was however determined not to give into his satisfaction of watching her despise the act that was upon her, which was something she had told herself she would do. She wasn’t entirely certain whether she was simply lying to herself. She hated herself for that.

“Please…” Emíel hoarsely whispered, unsure what she was about to say next.

“Please what… young one?” the king asked, gloating at how she seemed to respond to him more deeply than he had expected.

“I… I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.

“You don’t know?” Thranduil chuckled, all while rubbing her own slick across her throbbing bud.

“Allow me to aid you in finding the answers you seek, servant girl,” the king’s smirk had disappeared and his eyes had darkened. He was no longer playing.

“Let me convey my message to you… once and for all,” he grunted, widening her thighs, making himself more comfortable. Emíel felt his erection nudge at her entrance. Emíel knew she would never be the same again.

“Message?” the words barely crossed her lips. The smirk had returned, but the darkness in the king’s eyes remained.

“You… are… _mine!_ ”

Upon uttering the last word, he thrust into her with a passion. Emíel knew not what was happening, but all she could feel was pain, excruciating pain, as her hymen tore violently. She pressed her lips together, not allowing the king the satisfaction of her screams. She lifted her chin, exposing her neck and the veins that lay on top.

“So tight,” he mumbled, as he brought his teeth down to bite the veins before him.

The initial pain subsided somewhat, as Emíel focused on his mouth against her neck, but she knew the king’s hardness required movement in order to indulge in pleasure and movement she most certainly received. Thranduil retracted himself almost fully, only to plunge into her again without much consideration, repeatedly so. She tried to remain composed, but couldn’t help have a single tear escaping from the corner of one eye, indicating that she was not enjoying their union… not yet anyway.

Unexpectedly Thranduil captured her mouth with his own. She was unable to hide the welcome surprise, as she relished the king’s parted lips on hers, as he determinedly pushed his tongue inside, to further claim her body as his own. She decided to play along and allowed herself to battle with his tongue. It was a battle she knew she couldn’t win. Thranduil jerked his head up and gazed onto her face, which seemed to display a number of emotions.

“Well, well… it appears that you do not object, you little minx,” his spoke huskily, as he plunged himself into her again. Emíel’s breathing halted for the briefest of moments, every time he pushed himself deeper. The pain had become bearable, but was still present, until she sensed there was something other than pain that seemed to develop deep within. She was confused. In an almost involuntary response, she lifted her knees higher, though unaware of what she was doing, she effectively tightened her novice entrance further, trapping the king within her folds. Thranduil grunted, then moaned and sighed loudly, before crushing his mouth onto hers once more.

The pain Emíel was experiencing, no longer dominated her senses. She understood that her union with the king was more, so much more, than she had ever thought possible. Her stomach twisted and somersaulted violently, as Thranduil lifted his torso up, to find the leverage to push himself further into the virgin he had claimed. Emíel didn’t think it was possible for him to go deeper, but he managed to surprise her over and over as time elapsed. 

Thranduil quickened and intensified his thrusts.

“You will know your place… your position… your role… and the fact that you are… _mine_ …” he uttered with a carnal grunt.

“… no one will be allowed to look at you again… _ever_ …” he spoke again, gritting his teeth, as he drove towards his climax.

“… I will ruin you for every other male in Middle-Earth…” his words had become laboured.

“… you will come to me… and only _me_ …” he barely managed, as his high was almost upon him. Emíel knew better than to argue with his words, as she felt a tight coil deep within that was ready to be released.

“… you will never know another cock again… for as long as you li…” he never finished his sentence, as his whole body went rigid. Emíel felt his entire physique spasm in delight, his flesh twitching deep within, as her own release suddenly burst, while she felt him spurt his seed deep into her warmth. As soon as his body allowed it, he regarded Emíel beneath him, as she shuddered, her mouth open, finally having given into the sensations she had felt rise from deep down. Unwillingly, she had opened her mouth and a sound unlike anything she had ever uttered, made its way past her lips. Thranduil grinned audibly, as he continued to give her his final thrusts, emptying himself, making her orgasm last… and did it ever last.

As Thranduil’s movements halted, he lowered his sweaty torso onto her bare breasts, resting his elbows on either side of her head. Emíel’s mouth was still open, as though time itself had stopped. Her heavy breathing did not seem to disappear, until it finally did and she managed to somewhat compose herself again. Thranduil had simply watched her regain her sense of self, tremendously pleased with how he had managed to leave an ever-lasting impression on the servant, whose innocence and very being, he had just claimed as his own. 

He finally rolled away from her, extracting his softening state from her core, making Emíel flinch. As soon as her body allowed it, she lifted herself and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, a sense of embarrassment around her. Surely elves were not meant to engage in acts of the flesh like mere animals? She dared not look behind her, unsure if the state of the king would be too much for her to handle. She could hear how his breathing had calmed, as though he was on the verge of sleep.

“I… I will take my leave now… my Lord,” Emíel whispered, as she clutched the sheets around her body with shame. Thranduil did not respond. She took it as her cue to get up and prepare to exit the chambers. As she moved to stand, she was roughly yanked back onto the bed, by Thranduil’s strong arm.

“You are not going anywhere,” he commanded, as he pulled her towards him, her back against his chest, as he moulded himself around her.

“Sleep… servant girl,” he ordered.

“But… it is the middle of the day… I have work to d…,” she whispered, as Thranduil circled his arm tightly around her waist. 

“ _Sleep!_ ” he insisted, as she felt his thigh press against her bare backside. Emíel saw no other option but to obey his command. She found it difficult to relax, knowing her work for the day awaited in the laundry room. It wasn’t until the king snuck his other arm beneath her neck to pull her even closer, almost by way of protection, that let her know that she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. She finally gave in, admitting to herself that the orgasm she had experienced, had in fact drained her profusely. She was tired.

***


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

When Emíel woke, she noticed dusk was almost upon the kingdom. She shot up, worried she had slept too long and her tasks had remained idle earlier that day. As she sat up, she flinched, her core raw from having been claimed by her king. As she scanned the bed and the room, she found Thranduil to be gone. Was she allowed to leave? She did not know. As she stood, she glanced at the sheets, where stains of her innocence adorned the surface, a testament of what had transpired between her and the king. That was it. She was no longer pure and she was certain any future prospects of a normal life for her had ended. On the one hand, she wanted to cry, yet part of her yearned for the king’s touch. She was confused yet again.

She decided to chance leaving. She quickly changed the soiled sheets, as it was the task she was set out to do. She regarded her dress, which had been torn into nothingness. She was concerned with how to return to her own chambers without having to make her way through the vast halls and tunnels naked. Panic struck her, until she noticed the king’s burgundy robe on a chair nearby. He would punish her for taking it, but she saw no other way to avoid being further embarrassed otherwise. She slipped into the large robe, taking in the king’s scent. She felt dizzy all of a sudden, but quickly snapped back to reality, picking up the dirty sheets as she made her way to exit.

“Servant girl!” she heard his deep booming voice from the bathing area. Emíel swallowed. There was no escaping him. She slowly padded towards where she had heard his voice beckon.

“You weren’t actually thinking of leaving without my permission, were you?” he smirked. Emíel had started to hate his smirk, yet she was oddly drawn to it as well.

“I… I changed the sheets… they should be washed,” she offered, hoping it would be enough for him dismiss her.

“And you thought to steal my robe while you were at it,” he accused her. Emíel knew she would be in trouble.

“Take it off,” Thranduil ordered, as he turned to watch, his torso lifted from the water.

Emíel shed the robe, only to lay it neatly on a stool that stood close. 

“Come here,” came another order. Emíel moved closer, before stopping by the edge of the small pool.

“Here!” he ordered again, making her understand that she was to enter the bath with him.

Emíel slowly stepped into the warm water. As she lowered herself, making her delicate folds immerse in the frothy liquid, she sighed with relief.

“I guess I did not take you hard enough, if the mere touch of warm water is able to offer you soothing,” he grinned. Emíel tried to leave enough distance between them, to remain outside of his arm’s reach. The king would have none of it.

“Come here!” he spoke angrily. She instantly obeyed, fear gripping her, wondering what the king had in store for her next. He eyed her for a moment, before she felt his hand on her thighs.

“Open up for me,” he commanded. Emíel swallowed, but did as she was told. She wasn’t sure she could take much more of his attention.

Thranduil’s large hand tenderly caressed her lips, before he allowed his fingers to brush the raw entrance. He had already felt how her throbbing nub of desire was aching for him, but he gave it no attention. After carefully caressing and cleaning her folds, he suddenly withdrew his hand.

“Leave now,” he commanded. Emíel stepped out of the bath quickly and moved away from her king. She eyed the robe for a moment, under Thranduil’s smirking watch. She knew better than to take it. The soiled sheets offered the only solution at hand and with that she was gone.

*** 

Emíel’s evening progressed without much ado. After she had completed her work for the day, she was finally able to rest in her room. She considered the events from earlier that day, how the king had taken her innocence without much consideration for her. He clearly felt entitled not to care, and why should he have felt differently? She was but a mere employee in the palace, and not even a high ranking one at that. She was however still a person made of flesh and blood and she despised herself for having herself be taken advantage of like that. She was, however, in a position that could not deny the king anything. She knew she wasn’t the only one who had fallen victim to his urges. 

She thought back of her failed, though very brief marriage, with an ellon who appeared to be the opposite of whom she had thought him to be. A malicious elf, with ill intentions, who wanted nothing more but a title of nobility that was otherwise never going to be his. Would her life have been so much better, had she stayed? Had her husband lived, she imagined her life to have been miserable, had her husband not already decided to take her life. But considering his death, she would most likely have been imprisoned, or worse… sentenced to death. Being Thranduil’s sexual play thing, all of a sudden didn’t seem so bad to her. At least the king knew how to please her in return and at least he was quite something to behold. She had just preferred circumstances to have been different. She felt melancholic as she slowly slumbered, hoping that in the following days, the king would leave her alone and lose interest. Could she be that lucky? The days that followed proved she wasn’t. 

*** 

A certain peace lay over the kingdom, as servants and subjects alike seemed to relax with the king away. Emíel was glad that she would finally have some peace of her own, not being called upon satisfying the king’s carnal lusts. She had repeatedly thought about her situation and wondered if she really was so desperate that she should remain in the palace, or Mirkwood for that matter. She had always considered her dismal situation as something that would allow for few opportunities. When she was given one in the Elvenking Halls, she had been so relieved, that she wanted to do nothing that could jeopardise that. The Elvenking Halls had always been a form of protection in her eyes, but since recent events, she was no longer sure that the palace offered her the security that she craved. Being a low servant was one thing, but being brought down to mere nothingness, a king’s _whore_ … that was something else. She was no prisoner of the kingdom and she could leave at any time she pleased, yet she didn’t. She asked herself why and with a considerate sense of denial, she knew that she had never been a prisoner at the palace, but her mind had been one. Her mind, and part of her heart, had become a prisoner to none other than king Thranduil and as much as she kept telling herself she wanted to escape the king’s clutches, she didn’t exactly let it happen either. Not because she was unable to, but because she simply didn’t want to. Her life was a mess.

A sudden question had jerked her from her deep thoughts.

“I haven’t seen you in a while?” she instantly recognised Firravan’s voice. As she turned to face him, she met with a wide smile. Emíel was startled, instantly wiping the stable boy’s smile off his face.

“What did I do?” he cautiously wondered.

“We can’t be seen together… if the king finds out…” Emíel whispered.

“What do you mean?” Firravan wondered, oblivious of what had Emíel troubled.

Emíel jerked him away to a location, of which she knew not many would be able to see or overhear them. Firravan was clearly confused, wondering what he had done wrong.

“The king will have your head if he were to see you talking to me,” Emíel explained, making the ellon wonder about what it was she was referring to even more so.

“I… I do not understand,” Firravan spoke truthfully. Emíel did not want to have to explain to her one and only friend, why it was better if they weren’t seen together, but saw no other option but to tell him.

“I did not want to say anything… you know how the king can be… shall we say… jealous at times… don’t you?” she asked him. Firravan nodded.

“Well… jealous he was when we were walking through the hallways the other day, carrying laundry…” Emíel paused, taking a deep breath, before continuing.

“The king has claimed me as his… and his alone,” she spoke in an embarrassed tone.

“But… we are just talking,” Firravan tried, before Emíel cut him off.

“Don’t test the king, Firravan… you are a good friend… you are my only friend, but we don’t want to unleash his temper unnecessarily,” Emíel warned.

“Temper? Has he…? Did he force himself on you?” Firravan asked, hoping he would be wrong. 

Emíel considered the ellon’s words for a moment… had the king really forced her? Yes, there had been a certain expectation of obedience to his actions, but she could hardly deny that she had not enjoyed their union, or the ones that had followed in the days after.

“It’s okay, Firravan… just please… be careful… I will always be your friend, but we cannot afford the king’s wrath on us… there is no telling what he will do to me… or you for that matter,” she piped. Firravan swallowed hard. He had no idea. The way in which he had approached Emíel, had always been friendly, slightly flirtatious, and while he had hoped something would develop between them, he knew she was off limits now. She belonged to the king and him doing as much as just talking to her, could have dire consequences for both of them.

“But how can we be friends, if we cannot even talk to one another?” he suddenly wondered.

“I’m sure there will be moments,” Emíel smiled. Had circumstances been different, she would have put her fingers on his arm, to ensure he understood their friendship was valuable to her, but she refrained from doing so. Firravan was no fool and understood quite well. He nodded and gave her a sincere smile in return. 

“If you ever need me… for anything… you will find me?” he insisted, almost coercing her to promise.

“Of course… who else would I turn to?” she reassured him. 

“Good,” Firravan nodded. They quickly changed the subject, not wanting the needs and urges of the king spoil their rare moment of friendship.

Emíel sighed in relief. Three days… three days… then the king was destined to return. She hoped he would have somehow forgotten about her. _Out of sight_ did after all often mean _out of mind_ as well. 

She denied being honest to herself… her hopes were not of him having grown tired of her… they were of him seeking her out once more.

***


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The third day had come and gone, as evening had fallen over the kingdom once again. Emíel had not yet learned of the king’s return and she found she was strangely concerned if all was well with him. Maybe he had lost interest. A sudden knock on her door made her gasp lightly. She lifted herself from the small bed and slid the latch on the door to open it. Emíel recognised one of the king’s personal aides.

“The king summons you… _now_ ,” he uttered the words with a certain urgency.

“You are to quickly bathe, unbraid your hair and wear this,” he continued, as he handed her a bundle, wrapped in a flimsy fabric, tied by a crimson ribbon.

“And _only_ this,” he spoke again, before bowing lightly and removing himself from her room. Emíel heard him call out to her, before she closed the door.

“The king does not like to be kept waiting,” and with that he was gone.

Emíel had learned not to defy Thranduil’s command and quickly walked to her wash basin to clean herself from head to toe. She unbraided her long dark hair and brushed it, before opening the bundle, the king’s aide had left with her. As she opened it, she recognised Thranduil’s burgundy robe. Her stomach somersaulted. The king certainly seemed to know what he wanted. There was one tiny obstacle that could present a problem, one the king was possibly not going to be happy with. She did not dwell on it.

Both silence as well as darkness had fallen over the palace, as she briskly walked towards the king’s personal chambers. The hallways were cool, a certain draft managed to find its way beneath the velvet fabric of the robe and she clutched the edges tightly in order to trap the heat. She wasn’t really cold, but the prospect of seeing the king again made her tremble. She craved it, but she was simultaneously apprehensive, never knowing what the king had planned next. 

The guards by his chambers had evidently expected her arrival and allowed her entrance even before she was able to utter a single word. As she stepped inside, the warmth of the fireplace, made her loosen her grip on the robe’s edges. Emíel scanned the ante-chamber, but found no one present, save for some empty wine bottles that stood on the large table dead centre of it.

“Servant girl!” she heard an insistent voice from the bed chamber. Emíel frowned. The king’s voice sounded unsteady and somewhat slurred.

“Come here, servant girl!” the voice had quickly become agitated.

As she carefully padded into the sleeping area, she noticed the king sitting on the edge of the bed. Her breath got caught in her throat for a moment, as she regarded him. Thranduil sat on the large bed, shirtless, the front of his leggings too tight for what lay beneath. In his hand he was holding a goblet, which he immediately drained as he laid eyes upon her.

The king stood, as he approached her with care, a slight swerve to his gait, placing the goblet on a side table close by. Emíel’s instinctive response was to clutch the edges of his robe once more.

“Oh no… I don’t think so,” he smirked, as he raised his hands to her collarbones, pushing the fabric away from her shoulders, exposing her breasts. Her nipples had gone hard and stood erect by the cold she had experienced from walking down the hallways… or was it in response of the king’s touch? The state of her breasts seemed to please him, as he pushed the fabric further away from her body, until his robe dropped to the floor behind her, instantly leaving her completely naked.

“I see you have been taking good care of yourself,” he stated in a content tone, while he had started to unfasten the laces of his leggings, desperate to free his hardened flesh.

“Get onto the bed,” he ordered, as she watched him struggle with the knots.

“My Lord…” she asked for his attention, as she wanted to tell him something.

“Did you not understand? Onto the bed!” he commanded again, raising his voice.

“I… I cannot…” she whispered, concerned that his wrath would be instantly upon her. Instead, the way in which he addressed her, became sneered.

“Oh… and why is that, _servant girl?_ ” he emphasised her inferior role, as compared to his own superior position.

“I… I have my cycle, my Lord,” she whispered again, wondering how he would take the information given. Emíel watched him turn the cogs in his mind for a moment, until the king burst out laughing, evidently the wine playing a part in what Emíel perceived as a somewhat strange behaviour.

“So naïve, young one… there are more ways in which you are able to provide me pleasure,” he grinned mischievously. Emíel nodded and lowered herself to her knees, as she reached for the opening of his leggings.

“Oh no… that is not what I meant,” he chuckled loudly, as he walked away from her, only to return with something in his hand. Emíel couldn’t quite recognise what he was holding, but it looked like a vial of sorts. Did he mean to drug her?

"Onto the bed… on your knees,” he ordered, as he no longer bothered with the laces on his leggings and roughly pushed the fabric down, releasing his throbbing length, accompanied by a moan. Emíel was confused, but did as she was told. Apprehension gripped her.

Thranduil regarded her, as she rested on the bed on all fours, her rear held up high. He knew she hadn’t lied to him, as he noticed her cycle blood on her labia, mixed with her arousal, effectively making the liquid look pink, instead of dark red. He could feel himself twitch at the mere sight of it, but he had no desire to go there.

He held the vial up and uncorked it, just as it hovered over her backside. As he allowed the content to trickle onto her pale skin, she gasped, not knowing what it was her king was doing. Something seemed to run down and between the cheeks of her rear. The liquid oozed down her core and she felt it drip along her throbbing bud, down onto the bed. Emíel did not understand. Suddenly she felt his fingers rest on her pubic bone, while his thumb rubbed her eager flesh. Emíel took a deep breath, but did not allow herself to make a sound. 

“Now tell me, servant girl…” he spoke huskily.

“… why is it that you always respond to me so well,” he continued. Emíel could hear the arrogance in his voice, as though it was a given that she should always feel aroused in his presence. Was he really wrong though? She bit her bottom lip, as his thumb circled the nub of pleasure.

“Do you not like this? Because I do believe your body is playing a game of betrayal yet again,” he spoke smugly. He removed his thumb from her aroused bud, allowing his index and middle fingers to slide along the sides of her fleshy lips, before he let his index finger circle her sphincter. Emíel gasped loudly, as she suddenly understood what the king meant by there being other ways to give him pleasure.

“No!” she spoke loudly, fear consuming her entire body.

“Yes!” he hissed, while he let the oil, he had trickled on her rear just before, lubricate her puckered entrance.

“Please… no…” she begged, but the king had his mind made up. He desired one thing, and one thing only, and that was to become one with her again. Emíel knew her pleas would fall on deaf ears. She could only do one thing and that was to endure whatever he had in store for her. Tears slowly trickled down her face, as she waited for the king to proceed with what lay ahead. She sobbed and was unable to stifle the gasps that accompanied them. She could hear Thranduil huff behind her, before she felt his hand push her down between the shoulder blades, effectively making her torso rest against the surface of the bed. Instinctively Emíel wanted to lower her pelvis as well, but Thranduil pulled her rear up again with a sharp tug.

“Don’t make this hard on yourself,” he hissed. Emíel gripped the sheets beside her head, while she pressed her eyelids shut with force. Her humiliation was complete.

She could hear his ragged breathing, as his erection twitched against her thigh. His index finger was on her puckered entrance once more and without warning, though slowly, she felt him invade the tightness. The muscle resisted significantly, as he pushed his finger in fully. He slapped her rear hard with the other hand.

“Relax!” he commanded.

“This will not be pleasurable for either of us if you are too tense,” he spoke angrily. Emíel was taken aback by the way his hand had connected with the skin on her backside, but the way in which he had explained how her relaxing would make this easier, was strangely enough something she trusted.

She tried to relax to the best of her ability, but the apprehension of what was about to transpire, was making it incredibly difficult. Thranduil’s finger in her anal cavity was hardly pleasurable, although she did not perceive it as uncomfortable either, much to her surprise. She had expected him to move in and out of her, but he didn’t, instead he remained stationary for a good while, until she felt herself relax.

“I see you finally understand!” he said hoarsely.

As she relaxed, he moved the finger in and out, until he found the resistance within subside. He slowly inserted his middle fingers as well, stretching the tight sphincter a little further. Emíel gasped, but as Thranduil waited for her to adjust, she again started to relax enough to appreciate the fingers moving in and out. Her bud throbbed, as his fingers played with the tightness. She couldn’t see it, but she knew the king was once again wearing a smirk on his otherwise immaculate appearance. 

Time elapsed and Emíel concluded the experience wasn’t as bad as she had thought, although she failed to see how the king’s actions were in any way pleasurable to him. She was confused yet again. Suddenly she felt the fingers withdraw from the tight entrance. More oil trickled onto her rear. She cursed at herself for having been so naïve yet again. She knew this wasn’t over yet.

Without leaving her to thoughts and wonder, she felt Thranduil place the crown of his shaft to the tight sphincter. As he pushed forward, she sensed an awkward feeling, like there was nothing on her backside that allowed for any kind of penetration. She soon discovered she was wrong. As the hard tip finally made the tight muscle give way, she shrieked loudly at the invasion.

“No!” she whimpered slowly, silent sobs making her shoulders shake. Thranduil did not seem to be in a hurry and let the oil take the time it needed for his entire erection to disappear beyond her tight muscle. Emíel suddenly felt his thighs against the back of her own, making her realise that he had managed to push himself into her fully. It was sensitive, she couldn’t deny it, but her clitoris responded heavily, which was something she found difficult to fathom. Thranduil remained still, save for his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her backside.

“You feel incredible,” he moaned audibly, as he finally started to slide himself out and back in again. Every time he pushed forward, Emíel responded by slightly making her hips move forward as well, hoping to relieve the sensitivity of the invasion. She did that several times.

“Enough!” Thranduil bellowed, as he roughly gripped her hips, keeping her steady, as he pushed into her with more force. Emíel squealed softly, but quickly learned that as the king continued to fuck her, the tightness of her entrance was growing accustomed to the violation. It no longer felt like a violation… as much. 

He slowly picked up pace and before long, he slid in and out of her with more ease with every thrust. He grunted, as he started to pull her hips towards his own forcefully, in order to intensify the union.

“So good,” was all he was able to mutter, while Emíel kept her head on the mattress. Her thighs trembled and she yearned to touch herself, but she knew the king wouldn’t allow it. She was there for _his_ pleasure, not her own.

Then quite abruptly, Thranduil gripped her long hair and pulled her head up, before circling his other hand around her waist. She suddenly found herself in an upright position, on her knees, her head resting against the king’s shoulder. He had remained buried deep within and the angle of the penetration had changed in such a way, that she required to get used to his presence again. Thranduil had become impatient and steadied his arms around her waist and breasts, while pounding into her from behind and below. Emíel found herself responding, by meeting his thrusts and pressing her rear against him.

“Oh, but you _do_ like it,” he whispered against her ear with raspy breath, while he slowly allowed his fingers to travel along her abdomen, down to where her throbbing flesh awaited attention. As soon as his fingertips connected with her throbbing bundle of nerves, he started to pound into her harder. He knew his slightly intoxicated state would bring his release upon him sooner than usual, but he admitted to himself that he wanted her to scream, until her throat hurt. He smirked again, as he rubbed her fervently. His thrusts were deep and made her breasts bounce up and down. Emíel had pushed her head back onto his shoulder and have it rest next to his neck. She felt his hair tickle her shoulders, while the tightened coil had seemed to have returned. She knew she couldn’t keep it together much longer and the king’s grunts by her ear indicated he would find his own high within mere moments. 

Emíel tried to subdue her orgasm as much as she was able to, but as she came, she found it impossible not to scream.

“ _My…. Lord…_ ” was all that passed her lips, before Thranduil pushed into her one last time, an eruption of seed that followed, deep within her anal cavity. Both were breathing hard, before he finally released Emiel, after which she collapsed forward. She felt the king’s still hard shaft pulled from her puckered hole, followed by him collapsing onto his back next to her. He did not speak. 

Emíel was at a loss for words, completely oblivious of how this kind of sex could have resulted in the most mind blowing orgasm she had experienced so far. She supposed the right bed partner had something to do with it, but decided not to give it much thought. As she lowered her pelvis onto the bed’s surface, she grimaced. While the orgasm had been great, the discomfort had not been. Yet she found the positive of the experience significantly outweigh the negative. She found herself overwhelmed with mixed emotions once again.

She carefully ventured to remove herself from the bed.

“Have I told you, you could leave?” Thranduil asked softly. His tone surprised her.

“No, my Lord… I apologise…” she offered, unsure whether to crawl back onto the bed.

“You may keep me warm tonight,” he insisted, as he lifted up one arm, effectively beckoning her to get closer. She did not understand.

“Well… I’m waiting,” the king softly chuckled, knowing she would not defy him. Emíel finally closed the distance between them and carefully laid her head in the crevice the king had created between his armpit and his arm. Thranduil instantly circled his arm around her shoulders and reached for her other arm with his other hand, effectively pulling it across his fit abdomen. Emíel blinked in confusion.

“And now we sleep,” Thranduil insisted with a deep sigh. It didn’t take long for the king to leave reality behind, as sleep took him quickly, while Emíel took in his scent, feeling the slick of his sweat clinging to his body and now to hers as well. What was he doing?

*** 

It was still dark when Emíel woke. She felt uncomfortable. Not because of the warm male physique that had moulded around her naked body, but rather because of the awkwardness that she sensed between her thighs. She was sore and her discomfort screamed for a certain relief, or at least a proper cleansing. She slipped from the king’s embrace, while he groaned in his sleep and turned to lie on his other side, he did not wake. Emíel was glad he didn’t. The last thing she needed was Thranduil’s sarcasm on something or other. She padded towards the bathing area, where a large basin stood, which was perfect for a proper clean-up, without having to actually bathe. 

She carefully ran a wet wash cloth between her folds, finding that her periodic bleeding had almost come to the end of the cycle. She rinsed the cloth to clean herself between the cheeks of her rear. She winced, but made sure she was thorough. Only after she was done, she regarded herself in the mirror. Her hair was tousled, while a rosy colour adorned her cheekbones. She licked her dry lips, before downing a goblet of water. She hesitated on what to do next. Should she leave, go back to her room, or would the king be upset to find her gone come morning? She shuffled back into the sleeping area, where the king had turned again, only this time to lie on his back, the quilt resting lazily across his hips, just below his navel. Emíel felt her heartbeat thump loudly in her throat, unable to look away from the mesmerising sight that was her lord and master. Damn him for having such control over her very being. She hated what she had become. She ogled the robe that she had discarded the evening prior. She wondered for a moment if she should take it, in order to vanish to her own room, until a cry for need thundered through the sleeping area.

“ _Emíel!_ ” a deep voice shouted.

“ _Emíel_ … where are you?” Thranduil called out again, evident sleep in his tone.

She found Thranduil tossing and turning in a way as though nothing could calm him. For a moment Emíel felt sorry for him, as her heart raced, hearing him call her by her given name for the first time ever.

She decided to crawl back onto the large bed. As soon as Thranduil sensed her presence, he turned towards her instinctively wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close, until Emíel found herself sprawled on top of him. It was only then she noticed him having become restful once more. She concluded she would remain by his side, until he dismissed her again, whenever that might be.

*** 

When Emíel woke again, the sun had only come up shortly before. She found herself to be the sole occupant of the big bed, before realising the king was probably bathing. When she strolled towards the bathing area, she found no one to be there. She turned to make her way to the sleeping area again, glancing around to see if there were any clues of his whereabouts, but she found none. She did however find a set of her own clothes that had been laid out for her. Clearly, the king had decided that her wearing his burgundy robe again would simply not do. She dressed quickly, while a certain melancholy roamed around her mind. The king’s actions from the previous night had been demanding, perhaps forceful even, but she had not imagined his affections. She frowned as Thranduil had managed to confuse her once again and she found it difficult to handle.

As the day progressed, she learned that the king had obligations in Lake Town and had departed before dawn. He was not likely to return until later that evening or even the next day. Emíel thought it best to proceed with her daily tasks, until she was ordered otherwise.

***


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The atmosphere was light and pleasant around the palace with the king away. People seemed a tad more cheerful than usual, executing their assignments with pleasure. While Emíel admitted to herself that she missed Thranduil’s command to have her by his side, she wasn’t dissuaded from executing her chores to the best of her ability. They provided her with the much needed distraction. 

She once again found herself changing the sheets on the king’s large bed, ensuring his chambers were spotless. As she wandered around the royal chambers, making sure all surfaces within sight were carefully dusted, her eyes landed on a dresser of sorts, where a number of the king’s personal items were carefully placed, until such time came that he required them. She noticed two circlets, one of which she recognised as him wearing regularly. Next to the circlets, resided a glamorous necklace. It was destined for a female neck. Emíel concluded it must have been his late wife’s, as her fingers gently brushed the metal that sparkled in the morning sunlight. Suddenly her gaze was drawn to another piece of jewellery, making her eyes grow wide with shock. It couldn’t be. 

Her fingers reached out and picked up the item. She carefully examined it and tears collected in her eyes as she did. It was her mother’s ring. She had never expected to set eyes on the heirloom again, least of all in King Thranduil’s chambers, among his personal items. She swallowed hard. The ring that was rightfully hers, had managed to find its way to the king of Mirkwood and back to her. She pondered what to do for a moment, wondering if she should take it, as she was rightfully entitled to have it, but as she did not know how the king had acquired it, she thought it best to leave the ring on the dresser. He would surely miss it if it was taken. As she finished in the royal chambers, she kept thinking long and hard on how she would be able to take back the ring that was hers by heritage. However, she had no desire to set off the king against her again. As far as the king was aware, she was a mere lowly servant, who had no business owning such a ring to begin with. She cried. Save for her memories, the ring was the only thing she could ever hope to possess again, that had at one point belonged to her mother… her parents. There had to be a way for her to have it again.

*** 

Thranduil did not return to the palace that evening and the following day progressed without much ado. Emíel found herself in the laundry room again, where the heat was slowly getting to her. Her mind had not been on Thranduil’s return to the palace, but rather on the ring she had found in his chambers. She simply had to have it again. It belonged to her and if it meant for her to become a thief, then so it would simply have to be.

Dusk was almost upon the kingdom, as Emíel found some of the horses’ covers washed and folded among the laundry. She could use a moment away from the heat in the confined space and decided to take the covers to the stables. The sudden coolness of the air outside, made her breathe deeply. She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying how the breeze played with the ends of her long hair.

As she entered the stables, she walked towards the storage room. The doors to the large chamber stood slightly ajar, as was the hatch that held a horizontal shutter that could be lowered or lifted as was required, through which horses’ equipment was typically passed to whoever needed something. The king enforced a strict control of equipment and the hatch provided the solution. The doors were not always open and so she concluded that someone was still in the storage room wrapping up for the day.

She was surprised to find Firravan organising some of the horses’ halters, that seemed to have become entangled during the day. She heard her friend grunt loudly, making Emíel chuckle, as she poked her upper body through the hatch, resting her arms on the wooden ledge.

“Having fun?” she spoke suddenly, making Firravan jump as though the king stood behind him.

“I do believe you mean for me to have a heart attack or something of the kind… I did not hear you come in,” his breathing somewhat laboured.

“Well… I’m not actually inside the storage room, am I?” she sniggered. Firravan couldn’t argue with that. Not many were allowed within the space he was currently in and Emíel had no intention of violating the rule of entering somewhere she was not supposed to be. The hatch, however, did provide for her to engage in a friendly conversation with the one elf in the kingdom she considered her friend.

“You are here late… I see all others have already retired for the day,” Emíel remarked.

“I just wanted to sort out these halters… they are a mess. I’m certain they will be needed again tomorrow,” he explained, as he kept tugging at the leather straps that made up no less than three halters, but they looked like one piece in their current state. 

Emíel and Firravan engaged in an amicable conversation, which made them both lose track of time, as darkness slowly covered the kingdom. Soon laughter could be heard from the stables’ storage room, which overpowered the sound of another ellon entering. Neither noticed.

“What is the meaning of this?” a thundering voice boomed. Emíel’s breath was stuck in her throat. She did not need to look around to know who was standing behind her. Firravan became pale and fidgety, not entirely certain of why he should feel the way he did at that very moment. After all, he had done nothing wrong.

As Emíel tried to remove herself from her leaning position through the hatch, she found that quite suddenly her movements were restricted, as Thranduil had released the rope that kept the horizontal shutter up, under normal circumstances leaving the hatch open. All of a sudden Emíel found herself trapped, stuck beneath the heavy wooden shutter. It wasn’t really that heavy, but she was unable to lift it in her current position.

Thranduil had in the meantime made his way through the door that stood ajar before, eyeing Firravan angrily. The table boy swallowed nervously. 

“Leave!” he shouted at the stable hand, who knew not how to create a distance between himself and the king quickly enough. As soon as Firravan was out of sight, Thranduil turned towards Emíel, who was still stuck inside the hatch and had no choice but to listen to whatever he had to say.

“It seems you have difficulty in understanding who you belong to, even though I have told you several times now,” he hissed, while his nostrils flared. Emíel tried to struggle herself to freedom, but couldn’t manage it.

“Perhaps you need yet another reminder of the fact that you are _mine_ … and _mine_ alone,” he huffed, while a subtle smirk appeared on his lips. Emíel’s breathing accelerated. She was unable to move and thus rendered powerless and being much aware of the king’s twisted mind, she feared for his actions. 

Thranduil loosened the robe around his neck, before letting it drop to the dusty stable floor. The next piece of clothing that followed, was his tunic, until he stood in his undershirt.

“I think the only way in which you will be reminded who you belong to, is if I fuck some sense into you,” he again smirked. Emíel hated him for it. She watched Thranduil disappear through the storage room entrance, but he wasn’t gone. She could sense him standing behind her. For a moment, nothing happened, until she felt the king’s hands lift the bottom of her dress up, ripping her underwear away, until she was fully exposed to him.

“That’s better,” she heard him say as though he was far away. Emíel knew what was coming, but she had not expected the sudden and brute force he used to thrust himself deep within her folds. He instantly managed to bury himself into her warmth fully. Without allowing himself a pause, he began pounding into her. Emíel felt he was rock hard and it wasn’t simply because he wanted to teach her a lesson. He had craved her. Somehow she knew it and quite involuntarily she instantly responded to it. She closed her eyes, biting her lip, sensing the tip of his shaft touch her sensitive spot deep within. It felt somewhat painful at first, but as soon as she got used to the invasion, she wanted him to go deeper. She was in a way grateful that the king was not able to see her face. Her lust and desire would have been blatantly obvious and she refused to tolerate him to set eyes on that. 

Thranduil’s fingers had firmly gripped Emíel’s hips, bringing her closer, fortifying his thrusts, as he was desperate for his release. He had no desire to make her reach her high. She did not deserve it and he would let her know. His hips were relentless, as his thighs slapped against the back of hers.

“Never…”

“Ever…”

“For… get…”

“ _Minx_ …”

Upon uttering the final word, he released himself deep inside of her folds. He didn’t linger, but almost instantly pulled out, his seed spilling on the insides of her thighs. Emíel could hear his ragged breathing, by way of accomplishment. Suddenly the shutter of the hatch lifted and Emíel found herself roughly pulled away from it, before being lifted up into the air. Before she realised what had happened, she found herself swung over Thranduil’s shoulders. A pair of silver blue eyes flashed before her, eyes that showed nothing but anger.

“We will continue this in my chambers… until you can admit whom you belong to,” he hissed, walking towards the palace briskly.

Emíel quickly learned he wasn’t jesting. Thranduil had literally shown her every corner of the large bed, had assumed multiple positions, on several occasions throughout the night. And when he was done, allowing himself a moment’s rest, he was all over her again. He made her scream, until he was satisfied and she understood. Emíel finally managed to utter the much-coveted three words, the king so longed to hear.

“I… am… yours…” she ultimately whispered in defeat, making Thranduil collapse onto his back and Emíel cower towards the edge of the bed. She finally got it. She was his, whether she wanted to be or not. Problem was, however… she wanted it… more than she realised.

*** 

Emíel woke feeling nauseous, as events of the previous night came back to her. Her thighs felt damp from the mixture of juices the king, as well as herself, had allowed to collect there. She had been so aroused, of which she was certain had not gone unnoticed. She had finally admitted that she belonged to Thranduil and none other. She was a lowly servant before, but she had degraded herself to being nothing more than the king’s whore. She couldn’t stay.

She carefully moved from the embrace Thranduil had once again bestowed upon her. As she stood beside the bed, she turned to look at him. He looked so peaceful, so different while asleep, which was the complete opposite of what she knew he could look like. Angry, vengeful, fuming. Somehow she felt attracted to all of it. She slowly wobbled towards the bathing area, her unsteady legs screaming out to her. She made herself decent, before returning to the bed chamber, as she hovered her hands over the dresser. It was time she stood up for herself and possibly face her past, but she refused to do so without her ring. She took it and slipped it onto the index finger of her left hand. She turned to watch the king’s sleeping form one more time, before slipping away. She knew her unpermitted vanishing would invoke a wrath like never before, but she had stopped caring. Mirkwood no longer offered her the safe haven she had once thought it could.

*** 

As Emíel continued with her duties for the day, she plotted her departure from the palace and from Mirkwood altogether. Where would she go? What would she do? How could she earn her keep? Would she be better off with elves or with men? Perhaps she could travel to the Shire and live in peace with the hobbits. She had so many questions, she did not know the answers to. She concluded that solutions would present themselves in time. She hoped she could keep Thranduil at a distance until such time. 

However, luck was not on her side.

“Where did you go this morning?” came a sudden voice of anger, as the king burst into the laundry room.

“I did not give you permission to leave!” he shouted, making Emíel feel small once more. 

“I… I had work to do, my Lord,” she explained. Thranduil wanted to speak, but they were interrupted by one of the king’s personal guards.

“My Lord… sorry to disturb you… your newest prisoner seeks an audience with my Lord, down in the dungeons… he wants to explain himself,” the guard spoke. 

“He can wait… I’m sure the stables can handle being short only one stable boy, until such time I see it fit to release him,” he huffed, making Emíel’s eyes grow wide. The guard excused himself, before exiting. Emíel was furious, as she instantly knew who the newest prisoner in the king’s dungeon was.

“You have thrown Firravan in the dungeons?” she asked with an insistent tone. Thranduil eyed her intently, his gaze nerve-wrecking. He did not immediately respond, but a smirk slowly formed on his lips.

“Did you?” Emíel asked again, as anger started to become more evident in her posture. Thranduil was surprised at her sudden surge of bravery, when he had only ever known her to be submissive. It sparked a certain interest deep down in his very being. 

“I need not explain myself to you,” he huffed, triggering a further angering response from her.

“You have imprisoned my friend… my one and only friend in this blasted kingdom… and for what? Because he was talking to me? Am I not allowed to talk to anyone anymore? Just because you have decided you own me by fucking your way into my heart, doesn’t mean I should put my life on hold and not converse with anyone else in the palace,” she hissed venomously.

For a brief moment Thranduil considered her words. Had he managed to find his way into her heart? Confusion troubled him, as he felt conflicted whether to punish her for her impertinence or praise her for finding the courage to finally push back. He decided to indulge in her angered dialogue.

“Your only friend? I find that hard to believe,” he huffed.

“Do you now? And what do you really know about me, if I might ask? Have you ever bothered to understand who I am, and what makes up my tiny world, what my thoughts are? I am nothing but a personal whore to you, someone to scratch you, when you have an itch and to use and abuse whenever it suits you. And the worst thing of it all is, I crave it… _desperately_ … hoping you will seek me out again at the end of every day or whenever you have been away… and I hate you for it!” she spat, as tears finally started to run down her cheek.

“I am not disliked in the palace, but to most I am just _the clumsy one_ , not fit to do anything else but clean and fold laundry,” she cried.

“Firravan is the only one who sees me as more than just a clumsy elleth… and I cherish his friendship… but you won’t allow me to have it,” she shouted at him, surprising herself at her newfound valour. 

“Ah yes… your clumsiness…” he spoke softly, though there was no disdain in his voice, but rather a certain empathy. He lifted her left arm, observing the scar on her wrist. He recalled how she had managed to make a mess, serving him during the latest festivities, unable to carry the weight of the tray, as her impaired left hand simply wouldn’t allow it.

It was only then that he noticed something shiny on her index finger. Emíel did not miss the change of his gaze, as the ring she had taken came into full view. Thranduil switched his grip from her wrist to the ball of her hand.

“Yet your clumsiness is not an obstacle for you to become a thief it seems ,” he suddenly shot in anger.

Emíel decided it was time to face her past once more and come clean.

“The ring is rightfully mine… I do not know how you acquired it, but it belonged to my mother. My father had given it to her on their wedding day… it should have been passed onto me, but…” she stopped talking, as the lump in her throat wouldn’t allow her to continue.

“Oh… and who were your parents, _servant girl_ ,” the king sneered. Emíel straightened her back with pride.

“Lord Arthaden and Lady Aerin,” she spoke confidently. Thranduil considered what she was telling him. Anyone could have investigated elvish nobility and have stumbled upon those names.

“Impossible. They died several years ago, right after their daughter’s wedding. She disappeared after murdering her husband,” Thranduil huffed, not ready to believe a word she had said.

“ _I_ did not murder anyone… Boron meant to kill me… just as he had my parents killed. I merely acted out of self-defence… though regrettably he managed to leave me with a memory,” she said as she again laid eyes on the large scar on her wrist. 

“Boron took my mother’s ring… after…” Emíel continued, but her grief prevented her from saying more.

“Yet here you are… enduring whatever fate had in store for you,” he sneered again, as he recollected how he had submitted her to nothing but his personal play thing.

“A whore, a murderer… _and_ a thief,” Thranduil spoke quietly. “Perhaps I should add _liar_ to those titles as well… what do you think?” he gritted his teeth.

“Now I would be a poor protector of my people, if I didn’t deal with this appropriately… whatever am I going to do with you,” he huffed, not hiding his anger very well. Emíel hung her head. She no longer had the strength to deal with anything Thranduil had to offer. 

“I no longer care… my life is at an end… I have nothing more to live for,” she whispered, trying to wriggle herself free from the king’s iron grip.

“Nothing?” Thranduil wondered, her words hurting him more than he cared to admit.

“ _Nothing!_ ” she spat, as she looked into his silver blue eyes.

“Well then, allow me offer you a final resting place, until you fade into non-existence,” he said as he roughly pulled her along the large hallways, she knew would lead to the dungeons.

He forcefully pulled the ring from her index finger, before shutting the gate to her private dungeon with a loud bang. 

Emíel huddled into a corner, while she watched Thranduil turn his heel and walk away. He sighed deeply. He was troubled, but did not desire to reveal it. Emíel was under his skin so deeply, that the dungeons seemed to offer the only solution at hand. Damned her lies!

***


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Emíel sat in the corner of her cell. The floor felt cold beneath her rear. She had pulled up her legs in an attempt to find warmth. She knew she wasn’t really cold, but clutching her legs as she did, gave her a sense of safety or comfort. It was a faux sense of comfort, as she knew all too well, but it was all she had at that moment, as she was trying to figure out whether she should fight or give up.

Even though she had become a resident of Mirkwood’s dungeons, she was well cared for, which was something that surprised her. Food was brought to her regularly, but her appetite had become almost non-existent. Nausea had replaced her need for sustenance and she found it difficult to keep anything in her stomach. She started losing weight, but seeing how poorly she felt, she had stopped caring.

She was not aware how Thranduil in fact enquired after her well-being on a daily basis. He was not ready to let go of that which belonged to him. The dungeon keeper reported to him regularly, informing him how Emíel was not eating well and that he heard her retch on a regular basis. On the one hand it troubled him, but on the other he huffed at the mere notion and concluded she got what she deserved. Though as he considered what she had shared with him, he wondered whether there had been truth to her words. Was she a noble elf? Why on earth would she have taken up a position as a servant? He decided to do some investigating and assess if what she had shared with him was in fact true or not.

*** 

“My Lord…” one of the royal guards tried to get the king’s attention.

“… you have a visitor from the north,” he spoke softly, tickling Thranduil’s interest. He motioned with his hand, informing the guard that whoever was visiting, could be allowed an audience. He slowly stood from his throne and descended from the steps, to greet his visitor.

A tall ellon with waist long brown hair appeared before him and bowed respectfully. Thranduil frowned at the garments the ellon was wearing, as he was not accustomed for elves to dress in the way he did.

“Mae G’ovannen,” the elf offered, to which the king merely nodded.

“I am Cirdan, from Mount Gram… I believe you are seeking certain information, of which I have been told I am able to offer you the same,” the ellon spoke kindly. Thranduil again nodded. As soon as the elf had introduced himself, he understood why he was dressed differently from other elves in Middle-Earth. Mount Gram had become an elvish settlement in the First Age and its residents had distanced themselves from other elvish realms as time passed. He felt no animosity towards the elvish community that resided at the foot of Mount Gram, but there was no familiarity either. 

“I thank you for journeying all the way to Mirkwood, Cirdan. Indeed, I am looking to understand more about someone whom I believe used to be a former resident of your home,” the king explained. Cirdan frowned, but nodded, as he was eager to hear who the king was referring to.

“Do tell, are you familiar with the name Emíel?” the king asked kindly. The name triggered surprise onto Cirdin’s face.

“I am,” he merely stated, making Thranduil look up in equal surprise.

“Emíel was a well-respected member of the House of Maerdrym… I used to teach her,” he explained.

“Was?” the king wondered.

“I’m sorry to say, yes… Emíel was the daughter of Lord Arthaden and Lady Aerin, but she disappeared shortly after she was wed. That line of nobility has since died, which has saddened most in our relatively small community,” Cirdin spoke, as he observed Thranduil’s shock with each word that came from his mouth.

“Do you have any way of knowing what has happened to her?” the king ventured carefully, not yet wanting to give away the fact that he held Emíel in his dungeons, when in the cycles prior he had considered her as nothing more but his personal… his train of thought was interrupted as Cirdin responded to the king’s question.

“Alas, we have no clue whatsoever. We had discovered her new husband dead in their marital chambers. We noticed signs of an altercation and found that Boron…” Cirdin was abruptly halted to continue.

“Boron?” he wondered. He recalled the ellon, off whom he had purchased his ring, mention the name Boron as well. _His_ ring? Was it really his? Or was it Emíel’s after all?

“Emíel’s late husband… his head had unfortunately collided with the edge of their wedding bed, which led to his ultimate demise. There was no sign of Emíel,” he further explained.

“What is it you think happened,” the king was eager to hear of Cirdin’s perspective of past events.

“Boron was not a good ellon, my Lord… he was a cruel man and many in our community believed him to want nothing more but a title of nobility… he almost managed to as well, until we found him deceased shortly after he and Emíel were wed. I suspect he looked to end Emíel’s life also, just as he had done with her parents,” he spoke sadly.

“And Emíel?” Thranduil’s heart pounded inside his chest.

“Never heard from again, I’m afraid,” Cirdin lowered his eyes in sadness.

“Tell me, Cirdin, if you were to lay eyes on Emíel again, would you be able to recognise her?” the king wondered.

“Without a doubt,” Cirdin stared at the king with determination. Thranduil nodded.

“Follow me,” he insisted, as he walked past him and beckoned the ellon to be behind him.

Cirdin did not know of the king’s intentions and obediently followed him, until they reached the lower levels of the palace that housed the dungeons.

Thranduil nodded to one of the guards, who moved to open one of the cells close by.

“Please,” he motioned Cirdin to come closer.

Thranduil briefly peeked inside, finding Emíel huddled in the corner. Her face seemed dull and lifeless. Her collarbones protruded from beneath her dress, a sure sign that she had lost weight. A foul smell came from inside the cell, from which he concluded it was because she had vomited regularly, as the dungeon keeper had informed him of the same.

Cirdin carefully approached the elleth. She looked up, a sense of familiarity washed over her. She quite clearly recognised the ellon, but apart from her recognising him, she gave him no further attention. She did not have the energy. Cirdin swallowed hard and turned towards the king and nodded.

“It is Emíel,” he confirmed, his eyes conveying a certain grief because of the state she was in.

“Do tell, Cirdin, if Emíel is to return to Mount Gram, what would her fate be?” the king asked.

“I cannot be certain, my Lord, but I suspect she might be facing a trial of sorts… her sudden departure from the House of Maerdrym does not bode well for her… it makes her look guilty of what may have transpired in the past… but I have known Emíel for a long time… I know what she is capable of… and murder is not one of those things… she is the absolute kindest… sweetest…” he swallowed hard. Cirdin had known Emíel for a long time and had always been fond of her. 

Both Thranduil and Cirdin were startled as Emíel suddenly moaned, her face grimacing profusely. Neither seemed to be able to bear the sight and without much ado, the guard locked the cell, after which both moved away

“You are welcome to stay in the palace, as I do not find it prudent for you to travel through the woods at this late hour,” Thranduil offered, making Cirdin nod with gratitude.

The king found his way back to his chambers, as he thought carefully of what Cirdin had shared with him. He felt tremendously guilty and wondered what his next move might be. He felt the need to make amends, but Emíel’s lies and treachery did not sit well with him. He was angry.

*** 

The two guards in the dungeons listened nervously to the cries of distress that came from Emíel’s cell. They dared not approach, as such were the explicit instructions they were given by both the dungeon keeper as well as the king.

As the night progressed, the cries had died down. A few whimpers could be heard from time to time, until there was nothing but silence.

As they stood watch, their attention was drawn to a faint rustling sound. Both moved towards the sound. Two delicate thuds could be heard from afar. The guards looked at one another in shock, both clutching their necks, before their knees buckled. They landed onto the cold dungeon floor as unconsciousness swept across their faces. Silence followed.

Suddenly someone emerged from the shadows of the waterfall that cascaded close by. Cirdin walked towards the unconscious guards and nodded contently. They would be fine again within due course. He lowered himself to snatch the keys from one of them and stealthily moved towards where he had last seen Emíel. As he entered the small cell, it took a lot of effort for him not to spill the contents of his stomach. The smell within was awful, but it did not dissuade him from his goal and that was to get Emíel out of her abysmal situation. He glanced around the cell and found traces of vomit as well as blood. A blooded cloth resided in the corner opposite of where she sat. Cirdin paid no further attention to it and lifted Emíel up carefully. She found it difficult to stand and as soon as she stood, her legs gave way. She was in no state to stand, let alone walk. Cirdin lifted her up and hurried away from the dungeons as quickly as he was able to. They had to leave the palace. They had to leave King Thranduil’s realm behind as fast as was possible. Cirdin however, had not yet decided where to take Emíel, but he knew taking her home, to Mount Gram, was not an option. He would figure something out soon enough.

*** 

“My Lord,” came an insistent voice. There was no response.

“My Lord!”

Thranduil grunted as he woke. His head hurt and he knew exactly why it hurt. 

“What?” he bellowed to whoever was in front of the doors to his private chambers.

One of the royal guards entered and bowed respectfully.

“My Lord… our guest has departed…” the guard stopped talking.

“And this is urgent news because…?” the king spoke irritably.

“It seems he has released one of the prisoners,” the guard swallowed.

“Explain yourself!” he raised his voice again,

“It seems the servant girl was released from her cell… and…” the guard was crudely interrupted.

“She was _what?_ ” he shouted, making the guard cower and backing away from the king.

“It seems the dungeon guards were sedated by poisoned darts… they are fine, but because they were unconscious, they were unable to prevent her from escaping,” the guard explained. Thranduil was fuming.

“Arrange for a search party… _now!_ ” he insisted, as he moved to ready himself. He had to have Emíel back. She was _his!_

*** 

It seemed Cirdin had managed to obscure their tracks well. After scattering guards through Mirkwood, moving in all directions, Thranduil was informed that neither Cirdin, nor Emíel were anywhere to be found. The king was furious, though the guards did not understand why he was so upset with losing one of his prisoners. 

He furiously strode towards the dungeons, to inspect the cell Emíel had been in for a good while, before her escape. His nostrils flared.

“Cleanse it!” he ordered the dungeon keeper angrily. He turned, but before walking away he noticed the blooded cloth in the corner.

“What is that?” he pointed, as the dungeon keeper moved closer to investigate. He lifted the cloth up and found the blood on it to be relatively fresh as it was still damp.

“Was she injured?” the king insisted on knowing.

“There was no reason for her to be… I’m not certain… she may have injured herself… perhaps to end her life?” the dungeon keeper offered, but in fact he was as clueless as anyone else.

Thranduil abruptly pulled the cloth from the dungeon keeper’s hands and found that the cloth was not just saturated with blood. He frowned again and moved away quite suddenly, leaving the dungeon keeper to his thoughts.

As the king stormed into the healing chambers, one of the healers was with him almost instantly.

“What is this?” he demanded to know, as he handed the blooded fabric to her.

The healer was confused. How was she to conclude anything from blood. She observed the fabric in her hands and squinted slightly, while tilting her head in wonder. She unfolded the cloth on a table nearby and regarded the blood and mucous on it. Time seemed to elapse slowly and the king’s fidgety movements told the healer he was getting impatient.

“Well?” he insisted.

“It’s blood, my Lord,” the healer told him, looking up at his cold silver blue eyes.

“But it’s no ordinary blood, my Lord,” she indicated.

“Injury?” the king wondered, to which the healer shook her head.

“Cycle blood?” again the healer shook her head, while gazing at the fabric in front of her.

“Foetal blood!” she explained, again looking up at her king. His eyes had grown wide.

“Where did you obtain this from?” the healer insisted on knowing.

“It belonged to one of the prisoners in the dungeon… the treacherous servant girl…” he stopped explaining himself as he concluded he owed the healer no further explanation.

“My Lord… this elleth… she has miscarried… by the looks of it, she was close to completing her first trimester, but I suspect that perhaps unfavourable circumstances in the dungeons, may have led to her aborting the pregnancy,” the healer informed him.

“This was intentional?” the king wondered angrily.

“Not likely…” the healer responded.

“But you said she aborted the pregnancy,” Thranduil stated in a confused tone.

“Indeed… but she will not have intentionally aborted the pregnancy, but rather her body has responded to her _situation_ and deemed it wise to end the pregnancy on her behalf,” the healer explained again.

“It all happens for a reason, my Lord,” the healer continued.

Thranduil removed himself from the healing chambers in a daze. He had killed his own child, by mistreating the unborn foetus’ mother. It was one thing that he had submitted her to his will and desire before, but the dungeons had proved too much for her delicate state and after learning the truth from Cirdin, guilt was governing his very being.

*** 

Emíel had a hard time adjusting to her newfound freedom and for a long time after Cirdin had helped to release her from a questionable fate, she found herself to be physically impaired. She was tired all the time, not having fed well in the past while and having experienced a miscarriage, she learned that she had to allow her body to recover. It took her a good while, but she was lucky enough for Cirdin to have pulled the necessary strings, until she was again fit enough to do whatever she had to, in order to keep her head above water. 

Cirdin was unable to stay in Coldfells, Emíel’s new home, as he had obligations in Mount Gram, but he ensured Emíel would have the means to start all over and told her to reach out to him should she feel the need to. She was eternally grateful to her former teacher. She was however also concerned for his well-being, as she knew what he had done was punishable by death. Somehow she was convinced that Thranduil would not bother to find him, but rather would put an effort into finding _her_ instead. She hoped Cirdin had covered their tracks well enough for the king of the Woodland Realm to remain oblivious of her whereabouts. Time would tell.

***

Emíel had finally been able to secure work by waiting on tables at a local tavern in Coldfells. The tavern owner did not seem concerned with her impaired left hand and supported her in any way he could, as he had instantly recognised her as a hard worker. Once again Emíel felt indebted to yet another person in Middle-Earth and conveyed her infinite gratitude to the tavern owner.

As luck would have it, Emíel had no need to obscure her elvish heritage. Being so close to Rivendell, and Mount Gram not being that far away, elvish customers or residents were quite common in Coldfells. Emíel had been in doubt at first, whether to remain in Coldfells, after Cirdin had brought her there, as she was uncertain that being among her own kind would work in her favour. After all, her experience in Mirkwood had been disappointing as well. She had always thought that being among elves would serve her well, but instead it hadn’t. She cursed at her past, but at the same time felt a certain regret, and a kind of longing, she knew was for a dominant ellon who had mistreated her while she resided in the Elvenking Halls. Had he really mistreated her though? She pondered the question for a long time. 

She admitted to herself that Thranduil had behaved no differently from how any other king would have. The simple fact that he hadn’t grown tired of her, or discarded her like he had done so many other servants before, somehow told her that there was more to whatever they had, rather than Thranduil just being the dominant king he was and her being a submissive lowly servant girl, literally tending to his every need. 

_His_ need had however become _her_ need and every night when she laid her head down for a good night’s rest, she cried a little over the elf she had at one point belonged to. She felt conflicted, hating and loving Thranduil at the same time. She had grown to love how he always sought her out, giving her the attention she craved, making her feel special in his own twisted way. She hated him for not knowing her, not wanting to accept her past, throwing her into the dungeons, while jumping to conclusions and making her lose her unborn child. _He_ did that… _he_ had been responsible.

Her emotions subsided as time went by, as she found it increasingly easier to deal with her past. She became a respected employee in service of the tavern. She would make it work and perhaps in due course find a certain special someone, who could help her forget the king, who had a special place in her heart, regardless of how he had treated her. However, she found it difficult to forget him. Pulling long hours on tiring shifts, gave her purpose and distraction. Often she found herself to be overcome by fatigue so much, that her mind had no time to dwell on the Mirkwood king. She preferred it like that.

***


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

“Emíel… have you asked the gentleman in the corner if he wants a drink or perhaps he prefers something to eat?” Guldar asked, as she was drying some of the pitchers behind the bar. Emíel looked up and noticed a dark, hooded figure in the corner. She could barely make out his face by the faint candle light.

“Not yet… sorry Guldar, I was just busy doing this,” she nodded towards the pitcher in her hand.

“No problem, I will ask,” he responded, while he walked past her, towards the table in the corner. She noticed how Guldar and the tavern visitor exchanged a few words, while some of the other guests were trying to get Emíel’s attention. She shyly smiled at the attention the males were giving her. She lacked no attention from the men or ellons at the tavern, as her looks drew in most. She simply played along, being the kind hostess and tended to their thirst and hunger for ale and meat pies. From time to time, she would flirt in return, but only up to the point of what was expected of her in her position. Sometimes, guests would return to try and persuade her for more, but she would never indulge them. She shared drinks with some on occasion, but only when the tavern was almost upon closing time, never before. Most were misguided, thinking they stood a chance of wooing the beautiful elleth who waited tables at the tavern, but apart from being kind and friendly, she ensured no one would ever get the impression that there was more between them. She had learned to be confident and not always go along with certain requests. She had become stronger. She had learned to say _no_.

“A Dorwinion wine and a veal pie,” Guldar told her, as he set several empty cups on the bar for Emíel to take.

“And this is for?” she wondered. Guldar merely nodded to the hooded figure in the tavern’s corner. Emíel nodded back and made quick work of handling the order. She took the wine into her left hand, while holding the heavier plate with the pie in her stronger right hand.

She lightly padded towards the dark stranger, her hips swaying, as she evaded some exuberant guests, flailing their arms in drunken excitement. As she reached the stranger’s table, she set down the drinking cup and the plate. She tried to make eye contact, but the stranger had lowered his head. Emíel shrugged and turned.

“Enjoy!” she told him kindly, before walking away.

“I will,” came a soft response, making Emíel turn to look at him. She frowned.

As the hour was late, Emíel had started clearing the cups and plates from the various tables around the tavern. The dark hooded stranger had gone and she found that his veal pie had barely been touched. The Dorwinion wine had almost gone, save for some at the bottom of the cup. She expected the wine to have hit the stranger significantly, not having eaten much, while the wine cup had been near emptied. 

As she walked to the large sink around the back of the tavern, she slipped the cup and plate into the frothy water. Most of the cups and plates had already been cleaned and a strange clunking sound within the sink caught her attention. 

She slipped her hand into the lukewarm water only to find something she far from expected, in the cup that had been left almost empty by the hooded stranger earlier. She reached inside and pulled out a piece of silver from the cup. As she examined it, her breath got caught in her throat and for a moment it seemed her heart had stopped beating. It was her mother’s ring. The piece of jewellery of which she knew had remained within the palace walls. She frantically looked around her, but there was no one around. Her mind was jumping to conclusions rapidly. Surely _he_ had not found her?

*** 

Several days had passed, since Emíel found the ring among the dishes that one night. She had taken it and slipped it inside her bosom for safe-keeping. She had expected the hooded guest to return to the tavern in the days that had followed, but he never did. Had it been Thranduil? He would not have travelled so far beyond his own kingdom without guards. It couldn’t have been him. Then again, her mother’s ring had last been in his possession. She was glad the ring had found its way back to her, but she feared this was not the end of it.

As more time elapsed, Emíel had let go of the notion that the hooded stranger would return to the tavern. She had vowed that if he were to return, she would confront him. Deep down she hoped she could confront Thranduil himself, as she was convinced that the hooded stranger was the king of the Woodland Realm, but she feared it at the same time. As the days went by, she had let go of the very notion, convinced that perhaps the ring having been returned to her, was all there was to the situation. Her mind seemed to settle.

*** 

A loud rambunctious party entered the tavern, clearly in need of celebrating. The cacophony of the men telling boasting tales of valour and conquests, seemed a bane in most of the other guests’ eyes. Most tried to ignore them, which was hardly easy. Guldar sent Emíel to take their orders, knowing quite well that her presence often had a soothing effect on boisterous males. True enough, the loud party seemed to calm as Emíel worked her magic, but as soon as she returned to the bar with their order, they continued to be as vociferous as before.

Emíel was preparing a large pitcher of ale, of which she knew she would need both hands to carry it to the table. She gasped loudly, as the dark hooded figure unexpectedly entered the tavern, gliding towards the corner table he had occupied days before. He settled on the wooden chair and Emíel found her actions to be fidgety and unstable. She swallowed hard trying to concentrate on lifting the pitcher in order to carry it to her loud guests without dropping it. She walked slowly, to ensure she wouldn’t spill a drop.

As she approached the table, one of the men felt quite bold and as she had no free hands to ward anyone off, he saw an opportunity and smacked her on her rear hard. She shrieked, quickly putting the pitcher down, spilling some of the contents onto table’s wooden surface. 

“Clumsy!” the man who had smacked her told her in a flirtatious sort of tone. The word had triggered something deep within that made Emíel suddenly come across as insecure. She swiftly moved away from the table, barely able to keep her tears away, until she glanced at the corner, where she knew the dark hooded guest sat. He was no longer hooded, as Emíel set eyes on the long silver blond hair and silver blue eyes, which she had only ever seen on one ellon before. _Thranduil_.

Emíel desperately tried to ignore him, as she walked towards the bar. She felt his eyes bore into her back, knowing quite well that his attention was on her and her alone. He had found her. Why would he not leave her alone? Guldar nodded towards Thranduil, indicating that Emíel should ask him what it was he wanted. She already had a pretty good idea, but she calmly padded over regardless.

As she stood by the table, Thranduil merely stared at her. There was no emotion in his expression and Emíel did not know how to address him. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and placed her mother’s ring onto the table in front of him.

Thranduil did not respond and Emíel moved to create a distance between them. Thranduil stopped her.

“Do you not want it?” his deep velvet voice smooth and composed.

“I do not,” she lied, though she had decided to part with it, if it meant she could be free of her past.

“Yet you committed a crime in order to obtain it,” Thranduil said.

“And I have paid dearly for it,” she lifted her chin up, not willing to show him her grief.

“Indeed you have,” Thranduil whispered, evident guilt in his eyes. He pushed his index finger to connect with the silver piece of jewellery and pushed it towards her.

“Take it… it is a gift,” he spoke softly.

“A gift? And what do you require in return?” she huffed, crossing her arms defiantly.

“It is a gift… it does not require reciprocation,” Thranduil explained.

“I have yet to see you bestow anything upon anyone, without expecting something in return… so please try again,” she sneered.

“Very well… return to Mirkwood with me,” he stated.

“Are you asking me or are you commanding me?” Emíel felt bold, no longer wanting to be ordered around by anyone. Thranduil in turn felt his dominance falter and felt a sudden urge to fight it.

“I _will_ bring you back… you will _not_ deny me,” he hissed. 

“You have no power over me… not here… not anymore,” she hissed back and used her left hand to push the ring back towards him.

“Unlike you, I’m not desperate to take back whatever I feel I’m entitled to by any means necessary,” she spoke confidently.

Thranduil gripped her wrist, forcing her to look him into his eyes.

“Careful there…” he started.

“… what? _Servant girl?_ Is that what you were going to say?” she spoke angrily.

“You seem to forget your place… _my Lord_ … you are not in Mirkwood and you can no longer order me around… you have lost that privilege even before you threw me into your dungeons,” she continued. Thranduil tightened his grip on her wrist, again forcing her gaze upon his own. Emíel felt there was only one thing she could do. She raised her right hand and slapped him across the cheek hard, which made the rambunctious party look up at the altercation in the corner of the tavern.

Thranduil’s expression was one of shock and a hint of fury. In the meantime, one of the loud group stood and made his way towards Emíel and Thranduil.

“I think the lady wants to be left alone,” he spoke with his chest out, eager to impress Emíel, as he considered her a damsel in distress.

“ _This_ does not concern you,” Thranduil hissed at the burly man, while letting go of Emíel’s wrist.

She tried to calm the man down, but he seemed dead set on being her rescuer and gave Thranduil a death stare. The king merely smirked at the man’s silliness. He was no match for him.

“Leave us!” he ordered. The man’s senses were too dulled by the alcohol he had consumed, to engage in a fight of sorts and carefully backed away. Emíel turned her attention back to Thranduil, once the man had finally re-joined his little party.

“What is it you want?” Emíel asked impatiently.

“I want you to take the ring and in return I bring you back to the palace,” Thranduil insisted.

“So you _do_ want something in return… imagine that. I have no intention to indulge in whatever your twisted mind desires,” she huffed and turned on her heel to walk away from him. Thranduil had enough. He scooped up the ring and walked around the table. Before Emíel could protest, he had swung her over his shoulder and proceeded with walking towards the tavern’s exit.

She could hear Guldar protest and in response, the burly man who had confronted Thranduil earlier, tried to interfere as well. With a few agile movements of his free arm, the king had managed for the man to find his way onto the tavern floor, leaving him flabbergasted as to what had just happened. Guldar knew better than to protest further and watched Thranduil carry Emíel out the door. 

He didn’t stop walking, until he reached a small lodging close to the edge of town. He kicked the door open and walked inside, kicking it shut again behind him. He dropped Emíel onto a sofa that stood close. She wanted to stand as anger overpowered all her actions, but Thranduil wouldn’t let her and pushed her back down.

“You are _not_ at home… you cannot order me to do anything… why don’t you just leave me alone… you don’t own me… you cannot command me… you cannot…” her grief prohibited her from speaking, tears running down her cheeks.

“You are right… I cannot… command you,” his tone had softened.

“But I can _ask_ you to return to Mirkwood with me,” he stated. He did not instantly get a response, which is something he had already expected.

“You can ask… but I can refuse,” she sobbed.

“Give me _one_ good reason… _one_ … why I should return to your kingdom, when all you have done is belittle me, humiliate me, submit me to your carnal urges and lusts and I could do nothing but allow it all to happen… what is worse, you called me a whore, a murderer, a thief and a liar. I was never a whore, you have only ever been the one who has…” she could not say it.

“… I never murdered anyone. Yes, I took the ring, because it is mine by birth right and I have never lied to you… I have just never disclosed the whole truth about myself… I did that to protect myself… I never once thought that I would require protection from _you_ though,” she spat.

“But I denied myself protection from you, because I didn’t want it… because I wanted _you_ … and I hate you for it… from the bottom of heart, I _hate_ you,” she cried.

“What would it take for you to stop hating me?” Thranduil suddenly asked. The question came as a surprise to Emíel.

“W-what?” she whispered.

“I don’t want you to hate me. I know I have been despicable to you. My behaviour has been abominable, but believe me that I only did what I did to ensure you would always be mine. I did everything in my power, everything I thought was the right thing to do in order to keep you as mine… I cannot explain it,” he offered, which infuriated Emíel tremendously.

“And so you have never considered trying to trap flies with honey? Instead you felt the need to use vinegar… you are an _idiot!_ ” she bellowed. Thranduil had enough and lifted her roughly, bringing his face closer to hers.

“I don’t think I deserve to be addressed as such,” he hissed. Emíel started laughing almost maniacally, while the tears of her grief still resided on her cheek.

“I think you are getting just what you deserve,” she smirked. Thranduil no longer wanted to put up with her behaviour. He crushed his lips to hers roughly. Emíel struggled against Thranduil’s actions at first, but then seemed to give in to his touch. Within mere moments, she snapped back to reality and fought him, by pushing him away from her hard.

“ _Take, take, take_ , that is all you know, isn’t it? You and your privileged royal life… and for all that royal upbringing, never once have you considered being compassionate and _give_ instead,” she flared her nostrils. She could tell Thranduil was taking in her words.

“I gave you back your mother’s ring,” he whispered.

“And now you think you are entitled to take whatever you want?” she wondered with a sarcastic tone.

“What I _want_ … is to apologise,” Thranduil spoke sincerely. Emíel had stopped breathing. She sat back down onto the sofa, while she gazed into nothingness.

“I am sorry, for all that I have done… for all that you feel I have done to hurt you… I hope you will believe me, when I tell you that all that I have done was a ridiculous attempt to bind you to me… I see now that my approach has been… _flawed_ ,” he had continued.

“Flawed? Is that what you call it?” Emíel asked incredulously.

“I’m sorry,” Thranduil whispered.

“Please come back to Mirkwood with me… live at the palace… we can find you a position that is more suited for an elleth of your upbringing,” he spoke eloquently, hoping Emíel would be convinced by his words. Emíel wanted to wholeheartedly say _yes_ , but instead she decided to use the king’s pleas to her advantage.

“I… I will return to Mirkwood with you… on _one_ condition,” she squinted as she looked at him.

“Anything!” the king responded. 

Emíel raised one eyebrow. He really _was_ desperate. She genuinely believed she could have asked him for the moon and he would have obliged her. Her one request, her sincerest wish however, was a simple one.

“You release Firravan from your dungeons… he has done nothing wrong. All he is guilty of is being my friend… he deserves to be treated better than that,” she insisted firmly. Thranduil nodded.

“Consider it done!” he acknowledged her request.

“I will take my leave of Guldar and the others at the tavern… they have been kind to me in the past time, they deserve a proper farewell,” she indicated.

“I will ready my horse and we can go,” Thranduil told her, before she left the small lodging in the direction of the tavern, which had given her a home and comfort in the cycles prior.

“Meet me there,” she told him and with those words she was gone.

***


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Thranduil stood by his horse, his thick dark cloak around his shoulders, the hood loosely draped on his head. He waited by the tavern, as the veil of night had covered Middle-Earth. A change of season was almost upon them and the cold had set in. Thranduil however, seemed adamant about leaving as soon as possible, now that she had consented to travelling back to Mirkwood with him. They would rest whenever it suited them, even though the journey ahead was long and tiring.

Suddenly Emíel appeared from the tavern’s entrance. In her hands she held a small sack with what Thranduil concluded were her personal items. She did not own much. He attached the sack to the saddle, before lifting himself up onto the large horse. Emíel merely stared at him.

“Where is mine?” she asked, looking around.

“Your what?” Thranduil smirked.

“My horse,” Emíel huffed, again crossing her arms somewhat angrily.

“I did not have time, nor opportunity to arrange one… but Menaos here is very strong and has a stamina that is equal to that of five horses,” he explained. He hadn’t really lied. While there had been little time or opportunity to arrange a horse for her, he hadn’t bothered. He wanted her to ride with him. Emíel eyed him suspiciously. She found it difficult to trust him. Thranduil grinned silently and extended his hand, which Emíel took reluctantly. In one fluent motion, he had lifted her onto the horse’s back in front of him.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“No!” she huffed.

“But it will have to do,” she continued, breathing through her nose sharply. Thranduil smiled. They had several days and nights ahead of them. This was his chance to make amends.

*** 

Emíel barely spoke, even though Thranduil tried to make conversation on a number of occasions. Even if she didn’t respond to whatever he was saying, sometimes he would simply tell her stories. Whenever they came across a certain landmark, he would tell her tales of it from long ago. There was no need for her to respond, but she listened. At times, he would be so immersed in a heroic tale of wonder, that he almost failed to notice her having slipped into a slumber. He would only be able to tell when he felt her body slump against his, as she no longer held herself upright. It was those moments he seemed to crave most, as it allowed him to take in her scent at such close proximity and kiss the top of her head tenderly, because she didn’t protest. He did not care that she wasn’t aware either, that was simply how it had to be.

*** 

A full night and day on horseback required them to take some well-needed rest. As they arrived at the edge of Trollshaws forest, they settled by a small stream, while Thranduil prepared a small encampment. 

“We will sleep here. Tomorrow afternoon, we should arrive at Rivendell, where I’m sure Lord Elrond will provide us with provisions, for the rugged road through the mountains. Rest is key,” he stated in a matter-of-fact-like voice.

Having refreshed by the icy cold stream and feeling satisfied with a full stomach, Thranduil proceeded to feed the fire to ensure if would burn all night. Temperatures had dropped significantly and apart from the trees, there was little other shelter they could depend on. Emíel stood as Thranduil settled by the fire, looking up at her.

“Come… sit by the fire and warm yourself… sleep,” he insisted. He tried very hard to not to sound too commanding, but he knew their current conditions were not ones to play around with.

Emíel stubbornly settled on the frozen ground as far from Thranduil as she possibly could, without losing the heat from the fire. Thranduil merely sighed. What else had he really expected? He decided not to fight her.

“Goodnight… Emíel!”

Emíel swallowed. That had been the second time he had addressed her by her given name. 

“G’night,” she whispered softly, as she pulled her cloak around her shivering body.

*** 

Thranduil woke suddenly, as his horse was digging its hooves into the ground to loosen some of the grass that had hardened by the inevitable frost. It was still dark and the orange glow of the fire was slowly fading. He quickly stood and fed the faint glow the wood it craved to stay alive. Within moments, small flames erupted from the smouldering embers, lighting up Emíel’s sleeping form opposite of where he had been asleep himself.

He approached her carefully, noticing how she was shivering. He was glad he had managed to get the fire going again, but feared it would not be enough for her. Gently he lowered himself beside her, before moulding himself around her from behind, wrapping his cloak around them both. Beneath the fabric he circled his arm around her waist and pressed his long legs against hers. She seemed to unconsciously appreciate the sudden warmth, as she rolled towards him in a further attempt to get warmer. Though Thranduil knew she would curse at him come morning, he did not seem to care. At least she would be able to sleep and be warm. That was all that mattered.

*** 

The sun was barely up, but it appeared that the ever foraging animals around, had already sprung to life. Thranduil opened his eyes slowly, while taking in a deep breath of morning air. Half-sprawled on top of him, was Emíel, who had at one point turned to face him. He knew quite well that she had not done it intentionally, as she would have never allowed herself to do so, but it produced a smile on his face regardless. 

The fire had all but gone out. With the utmost care, Thranduil squeezed himself out of his somewhat captive situation, trying not to disturb Emíel’s peace. He managed to quite well and before turning to get the fire going again, he ensured his cloak remained around his travelling companion. 

He was on his knees, toasting some of the bread he had brought back from Coldfells and placed some butter by the fire in order to make it soft. Some cheese he cut with an elegant elvish blade. It wasn’t much, but it would settle the hunger that had developed throughout the cold night. On occasion he would glance at Emíel, who seemed to have wrapped herself into the cloak like a sausage wrapped in bacon. 

The smell of the toasted bread must have reached her nose, as she started to stir quite suddenly, blinking, looking around, trying to find her bearing. It all came back to her when she noticed Thranduil on his knees by the fire. The crisp morning air caused her breath to condense, as small puffs were visible, every time she exhaled. She then noticed his cloak, on top of her own. She welcomed the extra warmth it gave her, but she soon decided she no longer wanted it and collected the fabric into her arms messily. She dropped it next to Thranduil, before making her way back to where they had slept. It seemed she was oblivious to the fact that it was the king who had ensured her night was had been more comfortable than it otherwise would have been.

“Thank you,” she muttered in a barely audible whisper. 

“No… thank _you_ ,” he responded, smirking. Oh, how she hated his smirk… and what on earth did he mean by his reciprocated gratitude… he was thanking her for what? Thranduil noticed the low frown on her brow, but decided not to go into it further. It infuriated her.

“I have made breakfast,” Thranduil spoke, as she held up the buttered toast and some slices of cheese.

“I’m not hungry,” she huffed, determined to stay angry at him.

“That may well be, but you might want to eat something nevertheless. We need our strength, if we want to reach Rivendell in good health,” he explained. Emíel knew he was right, but refused to agree with him by verbalising it. She snatched the bread and cheese from his hand and started nibbling on them like a little mouse.

“Good girl,” Thranduil grinned.

As soon as they were both fed, their journey continued. 

At Rivendell, they were welcomed warmly. Thranduil had not always been friendly with Lord Elrond, but neither had ever denied the other provisions or accommodation, or if needed, protection. Their visit to Rivendell however, was cut short, as Thranduil was eager to keep moving. He preferred leaving the heights of the Misty Mountains behind as quickly as possible and reach Eagles Eyrie before nightfall. It was a demanding journey, but he knew it could be done. He was not wrong.

While the journey to Eagles Eyrie was hard and the air was thin, high up in the mountains, both were eager to rest again, before continuing the following day. 

“Once we cross river Anduin, we will be close to the Woodland Realm once more… _home_ ,” Thranduil spoke with a certain relief. Upon hearing the word _home_ , Emíel snorted derisively. It made the king look up at her, his stare almost demanding her to explain herself.

“Your home perhaps… I have yet to regard it as such for myself,” she huffed.

“I am truly sorry to hear it… did you not consider it your home before?” he asked, trying to lure her into a dialogue that could address whatever they had shared in the past.

“I thought I did… now I’m not so sure anymore,” she spoke softly. Thranduil felt a certain shame deep down. He knew he had been responsible for making her feel differently about the palace, which had at one point offered a home to them both.

“If you will let me, I can show you it can be your home again,” Thranduil offered. Emíel had to admit that he certainly tried to be different.

“We will see,” she merely said. It was more than Thranduil could hope for.

As they laid themselves to rest by the crackling fire, Thranduil had decided to wait until she was sound asleep, before venturing closer and provide her the same care and comfort as he had done the previous night. 

*** 

Two additional full days of travel were needed for Thranduil and Emíel to finally reach the palace. Menaos had grown excited as soon as they had entered Mirkwood, knowing his home was almost upon him. Even Thranduil’s entire posture seemed to perk up at the mere notion of returning home. Emíel however, had no idea that Thranduil’s spirits had not only been elevated because he was back in his own kingdom, but that he had returned with the one person he had searched for and how it would affect his reputation in the eyes of his subjects. While that was never his intention, he was happy for the fortunate coincidence.

Emíel had instantly wanted to retreat to the servants quarters, where she had once taken up residence in a small room. It was Thranduil who had to inform her that the servant quarters were not suited for a high-born elleth and that he had organised chambers to be prepared closer to his own.

“Oh,” was all Emíel could utter. 

Before Thranduil bid her a comfortable night, Emíel drew his attention for an important request as it was after all part of the agreement they had and the sole reason, or so she tried to convince herself, she had for returning to Mirkwood with him.

“Firravan?” she asked insistently, earnestness in her expression.

“I will arrange it immediately,” Thranduil promised. It seemed to instantly put Emíel’s mind at ease. She could rest well, knowing Firravan was to be released from his awful situation.

It was only when she closed the doors of her newly assigned chambers, that she felt her bones ache and fatigue overwhelm her. She looked around her for a wash basin, but was startled to find there wasn’t one. An arched passage suddenly beckoned and as she walked through it, she found she had a bath that resembled the one in Thranduil’s chambers. For a brief moment she closed her eyes with bliss. He really _was_ trying.

*** 

Emíel woke the next morning and readied herself for the day. She wasn’t entirely certain what it was that made her feel light and elated, but she concluded it was because her friend Firravan was again a free ellon. She managed to leave one of the servants she had previously worked with, flabbergasted, wondering why on earth she had dressed herself. Emíel had merely shrugged and proceeded towards the stables.

As she entered the large entrance, her gaze instantly fell upon the hatch to the storage room. She swallowed, as she vividly recalled how she had angered Thranduil and how he had made her remember whom she belonged to. Both apprehension as well as a certain arousal bubbled up from deep down. She found both sensations difficult to process and quickly shook her head.

She snapped out of her trance, as someone was suddenly speaking to her.

“It’s good to have you back,” a familiar voice came. She turned and looked into the sparkling face of the only one she had ever called a friend in Mirkwood.

“Firravan,” she barely whispered, quickly closing the distance between them, before wrapping her arms around his neck for a warm embrace. Firravan in turn reciprocated the same warmth, by wrapping his arms around her back. He abruptly let go and took a step back.

“What’s wrong?” Emíel wondered in shock.

“It’s not proper… you being high-born and all… what if the king sees me hugging you… he will throw me right back where I was, before you escaped,” he explained. Emíel snorted inelegantly.

“I think I have learned how to handle the king, Firravan,” she spoke, as she observed him. She found him to be in excellent health for a Woodland Realm prisoner.

“You look well,” she squinted, as she looked him up and down.

“And feeling well too… I have been promoted. I’m in training to be a farrier now,” he beamed proudly.

“Well done, you,” she exclaimed smiling up at him, until her smile disappeared like snow would from the sun.

“Hang on… when did you get promoted?” she insisted on knowing.

“Oh just some time after you had left… I was so thrilled to…” Emíel interrupted him.

“You said, he will throw you right back where you were _before_ I escaped… tell me… when were you released from the dungeons?” she asked in a demanding tone.

“Well… like I said, just before you managed to escape,” he responded in confusion.

“You mean, you have been a free ellon all the while I wasn’t here?” she needed the confirmation. Firravan nodded, as he did not understand what it was she was getting to. 

“Emíel… I don’t understand…” Firravan tried, as he noticed Emíel getting angrier, while time ticked away.

“I will find you later, Firravan… it’s so good to see you doing so well… but I do believe I need to have an audience with the king,” she huffed as she turned and walked away briskly.

***


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Emíel’s face must have resembled thunderclouds, as the guards noticed her approaching with a mission on her hands. She did not need to say one single word, as the guards allowed her entrance to the king’s chambers immediately, like they had done so often in the past.

As she entered, she noticed Thranduil sitting at the large table in the ante-chamber, both breakfast and important paperwork in front of him. As he looked up, his face brightened, but the joy in his expression quickly evaporated, as he recognised hell and fury in Emíel’s very being.

“Good morning,” he offered, not certain what else to say to start a conversation. Emíel walked over to him and Thranduil found it wise to stand, to at least give him some dominance over her.

“You bastard… we had a deal… an honorary agreement… I would come back to Mirkwood with you, for whatever twisted reasons you may have, in return for Firravan’s release from your dungeons. Imagine my surprise, after learning that Firravan had already been released prior to my escape from this wretched place, many moons ago,” she hissed at him.

“Then it seems we both got what we wanted, don’t you think?” Thranduil tried to remain stoic.

“No… it seems we had no agreement to begin with… Firravan’s release was not up for bargaining… the deal I thought we had is no longer valid… I would not have returned to Mirkwood so easily, had I known Firravan’s life was not in jeopardy… you tricked me,” Emíel accused him.

“I did not trick you, I just withheld some facts from you… I would have gladly released Firravan from his captivity, had he still been in my dungeons… it was an easy request to fulfil, especially since your return to Mirkwood meant so much more to me than releasing one prisoner,” Thranduil tried to explain, but it infuriated Emíel even more.

“Says the king who called me a liar. When I withheld some details from you, for my own protection, you were ready to take my head,” she had raised her voice.

“Well… not your head,” he smirked.

“Does this amuse you?” she huffed, her brow low with distrust. 

“It does a little, I must admit, but I will have you know that I intended no dishonesty towards you… I was just pleased that you agreed to return home with me,” he spoke in truth. 

“But I didn’t agree, did I? You fooled me into thinking I had some leverage, some terms for bargaining, but I really didn’t… you have made me look like an idiot,” she had started to shout. Quite suddenly she turned and moved to walk away.

“I’m leaving,” she hissed as she reached for the door.

“The deal is off,” she added, as her fingers gripped the handle. Thranduil was with her instantly and pressed his hand against the wooden surface of the door, preventing her from leaving.

“Would you like me to throw Firravan back in the dungeons?” he asked, his face serious.

“Oh no… you are not going there again… I’m not your servant anymore, a low-life to do with whatever you please… you sick bastard,” she tried pushing him away.

“We have no agreement, therefore I have no reason to stay… threaten me or the ones I consider my friends, as much as you like, I no longer care,” she spoke, as her hands pressed hard against his chest. Thranduil was desperate not to let her go, but realised that going back to the relationship they had before, was not what he wanted.

“A new agreement then… with new terms,” he spoke suddenly. Emíel withdrew her hands and looked up into his silver blue eyes.

“I’m listening,” she squinted again.

“We will make a new deal… you remain in Mirkwood, at the palace, to be by my side… no, not like before…” he quickly added, as Emíel wanted to interrupt him.

“… and you tell me the terms,” he offered, knowing quite well that he was giving her a carte blanche. Emíel eyed him for a brief moment, before responding.

“Very well… my terms…” she smirked, making Thranduil’s stomach do somersaults.

“I will stay… and you will not touch me… until I give you my consent,” she spoke confidently. Thranduil swallowed hard, almost making Emíel laugh out loud. She had him. There was a small pause.

“Very well… we have an agreement,” Thranduil finally gave in, extending his hand to seal the deal. Emíel eyed his hand. She smirked again.

“Do tell me… what are my terms again?” she said as she looked at his still extended hand. Thranduil quickly retracted his hand and moved away from the door. Emíel slipped out and left the king to his thoughts.

*** 

As time went by, Emíel had started to regret the agreement she had made with Thranduil. She knew he would not touch her inappropriately, unless she told him he could. Fact of the matter was, she craved for his touch and his attention. But as Thranduil wasn’t allowed to touch, he stood clear of her altogether, not wanting to deal with the temptation that came with having her within close proximity. 

A sexual tension was building between them, but there was no prospect of relief. Emíel was under the impression that she was able to hide her frustration well, but it seemed she did not hide it well enough. She often met with smirks and grins from afar. She tried to be unperturbed, but found it difficult to do so. Damn his smugness.

Thranduil in turn was impressed by how long she managed to play the little game they had started. It appeared he had found his match. Emíel however was unaware that Thranduil was a master of patience, having had so much more experience, while she was only a young elleth, who was a novice in executing the game’s rules. 

“I am patient… I can wait,” he whispered from afar, while staring at her.

*** 

Days went by without Thranduil or Emíel exchanging a single word. Their paths crossed regularly, but pride stood in their way of engaging in some sort of conversation. They merely regarded one another from a distance, much to Thranduil’s amusement. Emíel on the other hand felt enraged, as was clear from her facial expression and the rigid posture of her body. 

Truth however was, she no longer had much to preoccupy her mind with anymore, what with her new role in the palace. She had been busy as a servant before and Thranduil had often offered the much needed distraction in the past, but being back in Mirkwood again, under different circumstances, had offered her neither. She often visited Firravan, but as he was busy in being the new farrier apprentice, he did not have much time for her.

In the evenings, when both Thranduil as well as Emíel were in the Great Hall dining, he watched her push her food around her plate, but found she wasn’t eating much, as a kind of disgust adorned her face whenever their eyes met. She thought she _had_ him, but she had to admit that it was in fact Thranduil who had _her_. She concluded that she may as well have left… the new agreement they had made, did nothing for her. But she could not leave, nor act upon her inhibited lust that burnt deep down for the one ellon in the kingdom… and he was king. King of Mirkwood and the ruler of the Woodland Realm, as well as her heart. She knew she was the one who could relieve them both of the terms to the agreement, but her pride made her decide otherwise. She wasn’t entirely certain how long she could manage it, as she felt more drawn to the king than ever before. In addition, unlike Thranduil, she was not made of patience and a certain absence did after all make the heart grow fonder.

Emíel stood in a large open doorway, overlooking the forest around the palace. A thunderstorm raged above her and she watched the dark clouds move by with tremendous speed. On occasion, she would see lightning bolts light up the grey skies and with every thunder, she felt her suppressed rage claw its way out. She couldn’t live like this, yet the thought of giving into the situation, seemed as abhorrent as not doing anything at all. She screamed at the top of her lungs, her frustration evident, before she turned and pelted towards Thranduil’s private chambers.

The guards had instantly let her in and before she knew what she was going to say, she stood in front of the king, who seemed quite relaxed, reading a book on the comfortable sofa in front of the fire in his ante-chamber. The notion of him not being bothered by the situation at all, made her even more furious.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked grinning. She said nothing, thinking of what it was she could actually say. Her mind drew a blank.

“I… I…” was all she managed. The mere sight of Thranduil lounging on his sofa, had her weak in the knees and he knew it. Suddenly the king stood. He approached her, closing the distance between them, until there was barely any space left. 

“Are you ready to part with your terms?” he smirked.

“No!” she spoke too quickly, resulting in Thranduil moving to sit down again.

“Yes…” she suddenly whispered after a small pause. Thranduil closed the distance between them once more, but did not do anything else. She was the master of the terms that had forged their agreement, she was in charge.

“All you have to do is say it,” he offered.

“Very well… come closer,” she said, not actually giving him permission to touch her. She was not yet done playing this game. Thranduil drew closer. She could feel the heat radiate from his body.

“Closer,” she again said, making him shuffle towards her ever so slightly.

“Closer!” she told him angrily. 

“This is as close I can be without violating the terms of our agreement,” he spat, not understanding what it was she was trying to accomplish.

“Have I then underestimated your intelligence… _my Lord?_ ” she asked him, as she gazed up. Thranduil refused to indulge her without her having uttered the words.

“Say it!” he hissed.

“Say what?” she tried to play innocent. Thranduil grunted loudly. She enjoyed watching him squirm.

Then suddenly Emíel reached for his hand, brought it up to her view and played with his long slender fingers. Thranduil in turn moved closer, his hips brushing against hers.

“You have just forfeited the terms of our agreement,” he spoke huskily. Emíel raised her eyebrows.

“Oh… it appears I have,” she sneered, wondering what he would do next. To her surprise Thranduil remained stationary as the tension was building between them.

“So… you want me to be _closer?_ ” he finally asked. Emíel kept staring at him, without moving or saying a single word.

Thranduil placed one hand around her neck, instantly sensing her resistance, while the other circled around her waist. He jerked her towards him and with a certain force, he crushed his lips onto hers. It took a moment or two for her to respond, but as she parted her own lips, she instantly felt him delve deeply, allowing his tongue to roughly explore the warmth of her mouth. He let go abruptly, looking at her expression. Her eyes were dark, making him grin mischievously. 

“Like that?” he asked.

“Not close enough,” she responded. She found herself lifted up into the air, as Thranduil suddenly carried her to the large bed, where they had spent many a moment together in the past. He threw her onto the bed somewhat aggressively, after which he proceeded with removing the multiple layers that made up his clothes. Emíel simply watched him. She would make him work for what he wanted.

Thranduil stood before her, as nude as he had been as on the day he was born, while she stared at his already firm shaft. The tip glistened eagerly and every tiny movement she made, made his erection twitch with anticipation. 

“This dress isn’t going to remove itself, you know,” she tried to urge him on.

“Is that so?” he frowned, as he crawled towards her, curling his fingers around the neckline of the fabric. A sharp tug made the bodice rip and without further ado, the dress was easily removed and discarded onto the floor. He slowly moved to hover over her, much like a predator would its prey, but Emíel would have none of it and roughly pushed him away, making him roll onto his back.

“That’s better,” she smirked, as she straddled him. Thranduil reached for her breasts, eager to squeeze the flesh and rub the erect buds that waited for much craved attention. Emíel slapped his hands away hard.

“No!” she huffed.

She lifted herself, positioned his shaft to her entrance, before lowering her folds around his throbbing erection. The sensation was almost too much for her to bear, but she was determined to show no emotion. Thranduil on the other hand moaned loudly, as she sat on him, surrounding him. He tried to rest his hands on her hips, but again, she slapped his touch away from her with force.

In an agonisingly slow pace, she rolled her hips. She could feel Thranduil buck his hips upwards, meeting her with every motion, but every time he did, she stilled.

“How much do you want this?” she asked him, as he wondered why she kept halting. She did not wait for his reply, as she continued to milk him.

After a while, she placed her hands on his pectorals for leverage, slightly changing the angle of his penetration. He grunted loudly, while trying to place his hands on her thighs. He knew she would have something to say about that, so he refrained from placing his hands on her altogether, lifting them to rest above his head.

“You catch on quickly,” she said, taking full control of their union.

Quite suddenly she lowered her breasts against his torso, effectively changing the angle of penetration once more, bringing her face closer to his. Her lips hovered over his chin, but they never touched. Instead she buried her hands into his hair, gripping fistfuls of it and pulling it hard. At the same time she picked up the pace, pushing herself onto his hard flesh repeatedly, as the sweat between their upper bodies had started to collect significantly.

Emíel’s face remained expressionless, while Thranduil’s bliss in his eyes, was as clear as day. She could sense him reach out to his high.

“So selfish,” she whispered, as she halted all movements, making Thranduil pant with surprise.

“What are you doing?” he genuinely wondered.

“Stop being selfish,” she said, as she slapped her hand across his cheek. Thranduil was unsure what to do, but fury appeared in his eyes. He tried to buck up against her, encouraging her to continue, but she did not cooperate. She slapped him again.

“You selfish bastard,” she gritted her teeth, effectively angering the king even further. Emíel was glad her plan was working. In her own twisted way, she longed for the strong dominant king to return to her.

“ _Enough!_ ” Thranduil suddenly bellowed, as he flipped her over onto her back, lifting her knees up high, pushing his hands firmly into the hollow of her knees, before thrusting into her hard.

“Let me show you what happens to those who toy with me,” he hissed, while pounding into her with force. Emíel squealed every time she felt him hit her sweet spot deep within. Thranduil gripped her hips firmly, making her meet him with every thrust. She couldn’t seem to get enough of it and Thranduil made sure to keep his stamina up. Then out of the blue, she released the coil, she had not even realised was tightening within. She cried out, throwing her head back, while writhing beneath him. She took a deep breath, gazed up at the king’s face, ready to receive Thranduil’s load.

“Oh no… you are mistaken, my darling… I am not done with you yet… you _will_ come for me again,” he hissed. He pulled away from her, firmly grabbed her hips and turned her onto her knees. Without warning, he captured her again, pulling her hips towards him, empowering his thrusts. There was no end to Thranduil’s energy and much to Emíel’s surprise, she felt another climax reach out to her. He unexpectedly lifted her upper body into an upright position, while remaining trapped deep inside. His one hand travelled the skin of her front, before fondling her folds with determination, while his other had circled firmly around her waist, steadying her as he kept pushing into her. 

It took no effort at all to find the throbbing bud that typically lay hidden. Thranduil had her squirming deliciously and Emíel felt she had no more energy to fight him. He smirked against her ear, realising he dominated her once again, yet this time she welcomed it. Emíel lifted her arm up above her head and reached behind her, pulling Thranduil’s head against her neck. Again she had managed to grip a fistful of his long hair, tugging at it to encourage him to make her come again.

Her folds felt raw, but she did not care. She needed his seed deep within and relish in whatever consequences would result from it. This time, things were however different. Their union was different. There was something else between them, it did not feel like before.

Thranduil thrust into her hard and fast, as Emíel clenched around him, eliciting another orgasm from deep down, making her scream like never before. As she shuddered fervently, she wanted to speak, but the right words evaded her

“I… I… can’t…” was all she managed, while soft sobs escaped her.

Her strong emotions had him soaring into an abyss of pleasure, as he spurted deep within her ever-welcoming depths, giving her all of what he had to offer. Emíel collapsed, her breasts being pressed down onto the bed’s mattress. Thranduil collapsed behind her, his weight on her hips, as his twitching shaft had remained inside her. She could feel his heavy breathing against her shoulder. As he softened, he slid out of her involuntarily, leaving a trail of damp between her thighs. Neither moved for a while, until Thranduil touched her back with his fingertips, finding her to have cooled significantly and overcome with fatigue. He slipped away from the bed, only to lift the covers that had seemed to have made their way onto the floor earlier. He covered her gently, while he slipped on his robe. He stared at her for a moment, before seating himself by the fire in the ante-chamber like before. He had some serious thinking to do.

*** 

Thranduil could hear the sheets move on the bed, where he knew he had left Emíel regain her sense of self. Emíel had wrapped the sheets around her naked body, in absence of clothing that had not been ripped to shreds. She languidly padded towards where Thranduil was sitting. She watched him lounge in his burgundy robe, while his strong bare thighs could be seen just beneath where the fabric of the garment had slightly parted. She was much aware of the fact that Thranduil knew she was behind him.

“Why do you linger in the shadows?” he asked, without turning his head. She suddenly moved within his view. He could feel his heart skip a beat, as he watched her bare collarbones lit up by the orange glow of the fireplace, her hair tousled by the exercise they had both indulged in earlier.

“Because I never know what it is you want from me,” she admitted. Thranduil eyed the empty space on the large sofa, effectively requesting her to fill it. She sat down, carefully clutching the sheet around her. Neither said anything for a while, as both simply gazed at the flames that danced in the fireplace.

“Why do you hate me so much?” she suddenly asked, making Thranduil blink, before looking at her directly, a certain shock on his face.

“Hate you?” he sincerely wondered, although he understood quite well where the question was coming from. He had never expected her to vocalise it as such.

“You sound as though you are surprised… but are you really?” she asked again. Thranduil felt guilt turn and twist in his stomach.

“I do not hate you,” he said quietly, as he leaned forward to poke the fire and loosen some of the logs in it.

“Don’t you though?” she urged him to talk about past events.

“Tell me… why do you think I hate you?” Thranduil responded with a question. The question had Emíel fuming.

“Oh… let me see… you used me, abused me, took my innocence, violated me in different ways other than the usual, humiliated me, forced me to admit that I am yours…” she paused.

“… you took my child from me,” she whispered.

“I regret it,” he answered truthfully.

“Regret what exactly?” she again asked.

“All of it… but mostly how you lost your child… _our_ child,” he admitted.

“Don’t flatter yourself… it may have just been someone else’s… I was a _whore_ after all, wasn’t I?” she hissed, making him recollect his own words. Further guilt gnawed at Thranduil’s insides.

“But it was your child… because you have been the only one… _ever_ … you owned me… in more ways than one…” she said, making Thranduil wonder what exactly she meant by that.

“More ways than one?” he frowned.

Emíel said nothing for a while, but concluded they could not continue as they had done in past times. It was time she admitted the truth, even though it could possibly ruin everything.

“You claimed me as yours, physically… emotionally…” she paused again.

“… I thought allowing you to claim me, was the only option for me… it wasn’t… I understand that now… but then you made me your prisoner…” she spoke.

“There is not a day that goes by that I don’t regret throwing you in my dungeons,” Thranduil indicated.

“Not _that_ kind of prisoner…” she huffed, as she looked at him. Thranduil’s frown had been replaced by a look of surprise as he started to understand.

“… but I simply couldn’t understand why you felt the need to treat me the way you did… I still don’t,” she said. She remained quiet, hoping Thranduil would continue the dialogue and explain himself.

“Acting the way I did… it was the only way to bind you to me… I could not see another way of doing so, without losing face… but it seems I could have tried a different approach. Would I have done things differently, looking back? Probably not… my actions sprung from my need of having you, possessing you… _loving_ you. I am king… I’m not accustomed to people defying me and you were so deliciously compliant,” his expression held a certain shame.

“I need to change,” he finally admitted.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Emíel shot at him in anger. Thranduil looked at her in shock.

“You should not have to change… you are who you are… and that is a dominant, forceful, overwhelming king… you have not hurt me… not really… I was only hurt when you kept me from having a friend and when you refused to believe me, when I had spoken the truth… but you have since seen sense,” she explained.

“It is your overpowering self that made me your prisoner… the kind I want to be… the kind I hope to be in the future,” she treaded carefully.

Thranduil lifted his right hand, which showed him wearing her mother’s ring on his ring finger. 

“I was sincere when I said this was my gift to you…” he said as he slid the ring off and held it between his index fingers and thumb in front of her.

“… but now I may just make you earn it,” he smirked. Emíel felt her heart skip a beat. That smirk had her wrapped around his little finger… she hated as well as loved that smirk and she would miss it tremendously if it were ever taken from her indefinitely.

“Or I can just take it from you, and give you something in return,” she grinned, as she took the ring, slipped it on her index finger and straddled his lap. Thranduil instantly found his way into the sheets, his fingers on her bare skin, as she ground on his growing erection.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“Enough… we look ahead now… no need to dwell on the past,” she silenced him. She sensed his fingers carefully caress the skin on her back.

“And don’t ever change!” Emíel insisted.

“I think I can do that,” he smirked, as he dug his fingers into her hips with force.

A new agreement had just been forged between them, only neither had realised it yet.

***


End file.
